Daniel
by impavid fool
Summary: "I remember you, too." [Alex/Piper - sequel to Alex and Boy]
1. Chapter 1

A continuation from _Alex_ and _Boy_.

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><p><em><strong>inevitable<strong>__; certain to happen, unavoidable. _necessary.

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><p><span>Daniel<br>**1.**

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You're sober when you receive the phone call.

It's been six years. Six years since you've seen her face, felt her hands on your body, kissed her lips. You think back to those short months: the heroin, the recovery, _your remedy_. All of it a blur; a distant memory –– _as sweet as the drugs_. One flash after the next. You catch glimpses. A smile, a laugh, yells, screams of anger, fear, _love_. Clinging to you, her hands soft, but surprisingly strong, and a whisper, her last words.

... _when you leave..._

You shiver. Hold the phone. There's a voice.

..._ don't say good bye_...

A man. You don't think you know him, and you don't think he knows you either. Lowering your mug of coffee, you hear him eventually speak. '_Is this Alex Vause_?'

You consider hanging up. No one from your past knows where you currently live. They don't know you have some form of security –– although your probation officer, David Crockett, is absolutely useless. With a name like that, you're not surprised. It's a fucking joke, but you expect nothing less. Who cares about ex-cons? No one. Not even you. All your probation officer wants is to catch you in the act, have one excuse to throw you back behind bars.

That's if he's not too busy stuffing donuts. Your protection is foul. You can't sleep. The lights are always on; _you're afraid of the dark_. You don't _dare_ open your curtains, because you think, constantly, that he's after you. _Kubra and his men are after you_. Every day, you're terrified; you don't dare leave the apartment unless it's absolutely necessary. And it's only necessary when you have to work. Even in the company of your normal, innocent colleagues, you do not feel safe. You wait for him to find you.

Never have you received a phone call. Not from someone you aren't expecting. You freeze. Clutch the phone. The mug is tight in your grip. You don't answer. You don't answer. There's a long, draining pause between you and the man. Then, he says, lightly, gently, '_It's Kyle. I work with you at the diner. Remember_?'

'Oh.' You exhale. Relieved. You remember Kyle. 'Hey.'

'_Are you all right_?'

No. You haven't been all right ever since you left her. Nothing has been all right. 'Yes.' Short answers. Brief. You're not much of a talker anymore. The prison has mutilated what you are; the drugs have destroyed you. That boy has silenced you. Large, blue eyes. Blond hair. An expression painted with betrayal, loss, the abandonment of his own mother. A face, a look, a heartbreak you and your father know intimately. Eyes inherited from the woman who shattered everything you are, picked up the pieces, and tried to fix you back together.

Yours. Your family. _Your_ family.  
>The home you left behind.<p>

'_I don't know how to explain this to you..._'

You frown. Raise the mug to your lips. 'Explain what?' Take a sip.

'_Someone came into the diner yesterday. They asked for you. I didn't, uh, say anything because I didn't think you'd want to know a complete stranger asked to see you._' He knows about your release, about your prison sentence. He is one of few people who does. As your manager, he has to know.

And he's absolutely right. You don't want to be told a stranger has been looking for you. The mug stops midway from the table and your lips. You're still. Motionless. Your _heart_ stops, and you stare at the wall. Neither of you speak. He must be aware of your sudden fear, and you hear him sigh, hum a little. Nervous.

'_You still there, Alex_?'

'Yeah.' You continue to drink your coffee. 'What did they look like?'

'_A child. I think he was, gosh, I don't know... ten? He wanted some orange juice, and I asked where his mummy and daddy was, because, well, he's __**ten**__. What's he doing hanging around on his own, y'know_?'

'Get to the point.'

'_I gave him his orange juice. Then he looked at me, and asked when your shift started_.'

'A child?'

'_Blond. Amazing blue eyes. They just __**glowed**__. But, yeah. I shrugged, I mean –– you know, I told him I have no idea. He gave me a funny look, took his orange juice and went. He was a sweet kid, really. I just–– did you want me to tell him when your shift started_?'

It doesn't occur to you yet. You sip your coffee. Fix your eyes to the wall. You can only think about Kubra; maybe he's up to something. Maybe he's assigned a boy to keep tabs on you, because you'd never suspect a boy. 'No.' You move from the kitchen, approach the window. Think better of it. Turn. 'Did he say his name?'

'_No. Sorry_.'

'Is that all you wanted to tell me?'

'_I guess so. I'll see you tomorrow_.'

'Okay, see––'

'_Wait! He did tell me his name. Daniel_.'

The mug slips from your hand.

Smashes.

'_Alex_?'

You can't breathe. You're trying, you–– 'Did he have a toy truck?'

'_Funnily enough, he actually __**did**_.'

––it can't be true. It can't possibly be true. 'A red toy truck?'

'_Yeah_.'

'He asked for orange juice?'

'_Sure did.'_

For the first time in months, _years_, you smile. And it's tragic, absolutely tragic, that the mention of your son's name reduces you to tears. You cover your mouth with your hand, inhale, struggle to maintain your composure. Your chest hurts, _breaking apart_, lungs splitting in two, and you tremble awfully; you can barely hold the phone to your ear. Daniel Chapman has been looking for you again. That damn kid. Fuck.

It's glorious. Beautiful. You welcome the tears. You haven't felt tears in so long. Haven't felt such an _agonising_ thrill. It reminds you, you're still human. You're still alive. The prison hasn't stolen everything from you. You are sane. You are _real_. You are not a creature behind bars. You are a person. You have the _right_ to smile. You have the _right_ to feel joy, even if it tears you in half.

'_So_,' Kyle is saying. He chuckles. '_I guess you know him_.'

If Daniel is near, then so is she. So is Piper. You stop. Pause. Wipe your cheeks with the back of your sleeve. 'I'll see you tomorrow.' You hang up. Chuck the phone aside. It's been a year since you last met Daniel. Grown up. Five years old. Smart. Shy. _Sensitive_. His gaze desperate, asking, _begging_ you to come home with him. He knows who you are; he knows _exactly_ who you are, and you know exactly who he is.

The last time you saw Piper, though –– _six years_. Kissing a final promise to never see her again. A scar, constant, in your mind. Six years. Thinking of her –– _you can't_. You've avoided thinking about her. It's too much. Your body can't handle the pain. _You miss her every day_. Every second. There is no end to this torment. You start to think, _she truly is inevitable_. _They_ are. The only two people who matter.

(_Eyes that glow_.)

There is no end to this war.

Eventually, you come to your senses. _How_ did Daniel find you? How does he know where you work? Nobody knows where you work. It's a small, quiet diner several miles away. Teenagers frequently visit it during the day. The odd customer at night. It's not particularly an attractive area for a small child. You kind of like it there, though. You can play the waitress. You can serve food, you can pour coffee. It's nothing.

It's not the cartel. There is no adventure. There is no mystery. There is no women. It's no longer all about you; it's no longer about the crown which slides off your head, clatters to the ground. It's no longer about being a Lord, a Queen of riches and drugs, a mastermind, a _brilliance_. You are nothing now.

A deserved fate.

You don't sleep. The following morning, you're groggy. Your shift starts at nine, finishes at seven. Long shifts are not a problem. In fact, you don't even consider _this_ a long shift. When you worked for the cartel, your shift was _always_. And as much as it shames you to admit this, you miss the cartel. You miss it all.

Plus, you're not too keen on the uniform. You don't wear dresses. Well, you _do_, but the dresses you wear are black, sexy –– you like to show off what you have. These dresses are fitted, almost nurse-like, short sleeves, and an apron. You're not too keen on the light blue either. But you haven't complained. At least, not to any of your colleagues. Your friend, Nicky Nichols, however, has heard enough to know how you feel. Unfortunately, she's no help; just thinks the entire do is hilarious.

Arriving at the diner, your manager greets you on the way in. There's already one customer. An elderly man, sipping idly on his tea. Stepping behind the bar, you approach Kyle, and keep your voice low, 'How did that kid know I worked here?'

He's fairly young. Your height, dark eyes and a slightly podgy face. He's a little intimidated by you, most people are, so stumbles a little before he answers, 'I don't know. He might have seen you, or heard your name. I wouldn't worry about it.'

Bullshit. You're going to worry. You're going to obsess over this all day. Before you can say anymore, a couple walk in and ask for a coffee and two bagels. Already you're bored. They sit at the bar, talk between themselves, barely acknowledge you as you pour their drinks, serve their food. Apparently it's a busy morning because as soon as you're finished waiting on the couple, more people arrive.

Another colleagues appears. A very jolly woman –– Emily –– mid-twenties. You think she's a pretty lass, but not your type. Too confident. Too energetic. She seems to bounce as she walks, smiling constantly. When she greets you with that high-pitched, optimistic voice of hers, you cringe. She mistakes your expression for a half-hearted smile. 'Lovely morning, isn't it? Sunshine, even in the winter! So nice.'

You ignore her. Continue refilling mugs of coffee.

Emily hovers around you for a short while, and you know that hover. She's trying to catch your attention. You look at her, brows raised. 'Did Kyle tell you about the boy who came in yesterday?' You kind of hate her in that moment. Because Daniel Chapman has always been private; just a private memory in your mind which you haven't shared with anybody. You don't want people knowing there's a child out there who considers you his mother. Even after _six fucking years_, he still looks to you as a mother.

Ridiculous.

Barbaric.

Stupid, silly little boy.

Like his mother. _Stupid_. 'Yeah.' Short answers. She doesn't like short answers; they annoy her, and you enjoy annoying her. You like it when her mouth twitches in discomfort. She feels awkward. You're not a conversationalist.

'Oh.' She shrugs. 'He seemed cute. Is he, like, your nephew?'

You laugh slightly, and she thinks you're laughing _with_ her, so laughs too. Nephew. What a fucking joke. If you _do_ have any nephews, you've never heard of their existence. Your father was such a wreck, you doubt you're his only bastard child. Goodness knows how many siblings you have. 'No.'

'Okay.' She drums her fingers against the bar. A lady asks for another refill. To your dismay, Emily follows you towards the customer while you pour her drink. 'So, you going to tell me or what, Alex?' She asks when you return to your previous post. 'You're such a _mystery_.' You roll your eyes. _Good God_. 'I want to know more about you.' She shrugs again, smiles, and you want to punch her. 'Is he your son?'

You knew she'd pop that question sooner or later, and you're not surprised or bothered. Instead, you say, 'Could be the one I gave up in high school.' Emily stares at you. Now, you _do_ smile. 'I'm joking.'

'Oh! Of course.' She lingers. '_Is_ he your kid, though? He looks a bit like you.'

'Right.'

'Got your cheeky smile.'

This is unbearable. You imagine smashing your _fist_ into her face, and the very idea feels good. You hate this lack of control. The fact this _pixie_ feels perfectly okay waltzing around you, going on and on and on. She reminds you of a fellow inmate, Brooke Soso. Dear God. You do _not_ miss that place.

'Amazing eyes, though. Blue. Obviously he didn't get them from you.'

'He's not my kid, okay?' Your voice is blunt. You can't raise your voice. You can't be rude. You can only be blunt; forward. She frowns, steps aside when you proceed to toast a customer's bread.

'So, who is he?'

'Just a kid.' Just a boy. Just the son of a woman you _still_ love. Somebody who fell in love with you, abandoned you, broke your heart, came back, fixed the damage, and let you walk away one final time. There's a huge, gaping hole in your stomach which cannot be filled. It's empty; it's been empty for years. A void, feasting on rotting despair and grief. Each day is just a day. There's nothing to life anymore.

Not without her.

Emily moves away. You're relieved. But then––

'I _love_ your little apron.'

Shit. Slowly, you turn with the plate of toast. Nicky is grinning, leaning over the bar. It's weird to not witness her in khakis, but the jeans and vest top look good on her. You _feel_ your pride getting _crushed_ the longer she admires your attire.

'I'd like a vodka, if you got any. Do you come with the drink?' She cocks a brow. 'I'd fancy a dinner.'

'I'm _so_ sorry, we're fresh out of Vause. Oh, and we don't serve alcohol before twelve.'

'Can't you sneak a little in for me?'

'No.' Nicky slumps her shoulders in defeat. You brush past her to serve the toast, then return, 'Would you like a coffee instead?'

'This is fucked up.'

'It's good coffee.'

'_Vause_. Don't make me slap you. What the fuck are you doing?'

'Making a living, Nichols. You might want to try it.'

You don't mean to snap. You like her. You like her a lot, and, back in your cell, she was good company. A great comfort. But, you're passed that. You're _trying _to get passed all of that. The least you can do is start afresh, even if you have to wear a fucking apron. Nicky reminds you of the prison, she reminds you of those horrid, _ugly_ six years. Nicky reminds you of the nightmares, the visit from your little boy. Nicky reminds you that Piper is no longer yours; she reminds you of everything awful.

And she knows this. She knows this, and she's suddenly quiet. You both remind each other of the prison. Of that _demented_ place. Of the SHU, the COs, the inmates who bit and screamed; the loneliness. That heavy feeling of being unloved, unwanted, external to what is normal, to civilisation. You think the prison has transformed you into a creature you do not recognise, but you're scared that the person you've transformed into is _really you_. You're scared you found yourself in there.

For the sake of your manager not telling you off, you pretend to look busy and wipe the bar. Nicky props herself on one elbow, watches. It's quiet while you calm down. Her eyes glance to the cloth, then to your face, back to the cloth.

'This place sucks.'

Nicky snorts. 'At least you got a job.'

'Yeah. Serving coffee to nobodies.' You sigh, stop wiping. Look at her. 'I miss the drugs.'

'I know. Me too.'

'My manager asked if my tattoos were permanent. Clearly doesn't know what tattoos are.'

'You get a lot of dumb fucks who don't like that stuff. 'Cos apparently it reflects your _professionalism_ or whatever.'

'I am professional.'

'Yeah, you are.'

'Been getting tips, I'm that good.'

'You are _wearing_ that apron. You going to give me my coffee or stand here and flirt?'

Taking a mug, you place it before her, before pouring the coffee. 'Milk? Sugar?'

'Milk, and two sugars.'

'But you're already so sweet.'

'I'm going to hang myself.'

'It's not _that_ bad.'

Nicky grins. 'You're a real charmer, Vause, but I'm not buying your shit. Give me my coffee and piss off.' She jabs a thumb behind her. 'Anyway, there's some pervy-looking guy at the back and he keeps staring at you.'

Raising your head, you see where she's looking. There is a man watching you, but he lifts his empty mug when you spot him. 'Suddenly I'm everyone's bitch.' Nicky sniggers into her drink as you leave to give him his refill. He thanks you, and you force a little smile, but just as you're about to turn to the bar, you see someone outside the diner.

Through the glass door stands a boy. Blond hair, blue eyes, a bicycle collapsed behind him on the road. He's scanning inside the diner, palms pressed against the glass, mouth slightly ajar, brows furrowed. Concentrating. Studious. Then, he looks up and catches you watching him. He wears jeans, a blue t-shirt and a white hoody. A red toy truck pokes out from his pocket and your heart stops.

You take a step forward, and he jolts. Runs towards his bicycle, lifts it up and is gone in less than three seconds. You're frozen, staring at the door, imprints of his palms slowly fading away. You know that child.

You _know_ that child.

'––Excuse me?'

Blink. Remember to breathe. A woman is tapping your shoulder.

'I ordered my food ten minutes ago. Is it nearly ready?'

'What?' She's taken aback by your tone of voice. You nearly swear; it's easy to forget you work here, you're a waitress. Jesus fucking Christ. 'Uh, sorry. I'll go see what's happening.' She nods once, walks away. Somewhat distracted, you return to the bar, and instantly forget the delayed order.

Nicky is giving you a funny look. 'Seen your mother's ghost?'

You don't feel well, and you're not entirely sure why. Daniel isn't a threat, and, yet, you perceive him as one. He's disturbed your balance, your focus; he's disturbed your adjusted state of mind. That was him. That was Daniel, and he looks exactly how you remember. Soft, sensitive face, watery, beautiful eyes; curious, fascinated.

'If only.'

The order. Apparently you're not the only one who forgot about the bacon and baked beans. The order slip is stuck to the bar, and you pass it over to a colleague so the meal can be prepared. Nicky finishes her coffee and observes you in mild amusement while you work, until eventually she has to leave.

You feel indifferent. You neither want her to stay or go. 'Got a job interview at some supermarket. Forgotten the name.'

'Off to a promising start already.'

'Thanks for the boost of confidence.' Nicky leaves some cash, and a tip. 'See you around, Vause.'

You're back to wiping the bar. Emily passes you. Kyle asks how you are. A customer starts talking to you about their granddaughter, who's just started school, and loves to colour in stuff. You nod, listen, or pretend to listen. Think about the boy at the door, his eyes, how similar he looks to his mother. It's startling –– he almost looks _exactly_ like her. Except his mouth, his jaw, probably the hardest quality about him.

Firm. Set. Determined, a little pursed. A sign of constant thought. Many brilliant ideas, excitement in life. No plans. Just life.

Desire for rebellion.

When you're on break, you step outside. The roads are fairly empty. You smoke on a cigarette, and you hate the taste. You don't like cigarettes anymore. Stub it with the heel of your shoe. Look in the direction Daniel fled. No tracks, no signs of his existence. It's as if he never even appeared.

The day continues as it started. Near five o'clock, a customer leaves you a tip. Some teenagers come in, two attempt to flirt with you. You handle their behaviour well; you cope and you manage and you're okay as a waitress. But you don't feel _alive_ anymore. There's no rush, no burst of energy, no _danger_ waiting around the corner. You are an ex-con. You're hidden, forgotten about.

This diner is the best you can do.

Finally, your shift ends. Kyle has already gone. Only Emily and another colleague are left. She says good bye, hopes to see you tomorrow. You don't understand why. Untying the apron, you exit the diner. It's dark. Freezing. Your Vauxhall Corsa waits in the small car park next to the diner. You retrieve the key from your pocket, unlock the door.

You sense it.

A person.

Standing right behind you.

Fear kicks in, and you automatically assume it's one of _his_ men. The gun is in your car, underneath your seat. But there's no time to think. You swerve around, back pressed against the door. You don't see a six foot man, you don't see a suit, you don't see a knife or any other weapon.

You see a boy.

All the same. He looks at you the way he did as a baby. Eyes wide. Lips parted. In awe. Terror shudders between you two. The toy truck is still in his pocket, a bicycle leaning against the diner. His cheeks are slightly flushed due to the cold. For a moment, you think Piper is with him, but you don't see her anywhere.

You look at him again.

He waits. 'You've been looking for me.' A statement. He nods. 'Does your mother know?' He shakes his head. 'Go home, then.' Hesitance. He's sizing you up. He remembers you as the inmate, the prisoner. He remembers you as the woman who refused to come home with him. He remembers you as the monster who abandoned him and his mother. He remembers you as the person who said –– _don't come back_.

'Do you remember me?'

'Yes.'

Daniel smiles crookedly. _Cheeky smile_.

'I remember you, too.'

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**author's** **note**: Daniel and Alex have been bugging me. As has Piper's "inevitable" statement. I didn't want to continue this verse for a lot of reasons, but obviously I couldn't hold back. I hope this story doesn't destroy the effect of its predecessors. Trilogies can either be awesome, or dire. So, I'll put a great amount of hard work into this –– I feel pretty good about the idea, anyway. I wanted to note that Daniel is six years old, and Alex has only _just_ been released from prison. You'll notice she has been damaged after serving her sentence, as I'm sure most inmates are. She's the same as she's always been, but some qualities about her will have altered a little.

I don't intend this to be as angst-filled as _Alex_, but I can't hold any promises.

Updates will be spaced out. My studies start on Monday, and I must prioritise that over my writing. This story is my main interest right now, though. Please do leave a review! Be as blunt as you wish.  
>There probably will be a lot of character development in this story, particularly between Alex and Daniel. I will feature a lot of Piper and, yes, this story is going to be packed with Vauseman goodnessagony.

Who wants more...?


	2. Chapter 2

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Daniel  
><span>**2.**

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'How did you know where to find me?'

One hand in his pocket, he blinks, cranes his head to the side. You're not used to the innocence of children; their fascination and naïvety. But, with this kid, you're all right. You _understand_ his fascination, his tense shoulders, the lack of confidence. Daniel has a gentle spirit, and it shows. He doesn't frown, glare –– his expression is soft, displaying rich, powerful emotions he is incapable of hiding. An _emotive_ boy. Honest. He's exactly as you remember, but so much more.

There are no secrets. His voice is light, 'I heard your name.'

You raise a brow. Roll your eyes. Perfect. Trust your colleagues to not keep their fucking yappers _shut_. You go through whom it may have been, but there are so many to accuse. 'When?'

'Last Tuesday, I think.'

'What did you hear?' The boy hesitates. You realise he thinks he's in trouble. 'I'm not gonna tell you off, kid, but it's important you tell me.'

It's important we're open to each other. It's important you know I'm on your side, and you're on mine. Daniel lowers his gaze. Fiddles with the toy truck. 'You're new.' He's lost in thought, concentrating hard. 'Just that you're new here. I sometimes come here for some milk or orange juice.' Eavesdropped. He eavesdropped what your colleagues were discussing. It's as simple as that. As disastrous as that. It was mere fate he would hear your name. 'Mummy said––' He pauses. You do nothing. He blinks. Swallows. 'Mummy said she had to work late tonight. She probably wants me home now.'

Daniel peers over his shoulder at his bicycle. You look to your right, watch somebody cross the road. The sky is a dark blue, black clouds, stars. You don't want him going home alone. 'I'll give you a lift.' He stares at you, shocked, confused. 'Come on,' you deliberately add weight to your tone. For some reason, it's vital he looks up to you as somebody wise, somebody he must trust, somebody he must follow. You want this child to like you. 'I don't do this for everyone.'

Then, he smiles. A small smile. It lasts barely a second. Daniel runs to fetch his bike, and hurries back to you. He's excited. You have a million questions to ask him, and he has a million questions to ask you, but you're the adult. You can't ask. You lower the back seat so there is enough room to fit his small bicycle inside. Tell him to get in front seat. He's small, speedy as he races to the front of the car. When you, yourself, are seated, turn on the engine, you suddenly think of the heroin.

Your addiction. The dilemma you once faced: take the drugs, and you'll be able to drive safely. Don't take the drugs for the sake of the baby, but you won't be able to drive. You remember that. You remember that _horror_. A shiver shoots up your spine and you glance at him. He's not a baby anymore. He's older. He's grown. He has a head full of blond hair, and he talks, and he wears clothes his mother bought him: jeans, a hoody.

And he carries the toy truck.

You aren't addicted to the drugs. Not anymore. Daniel meets your gaze, and you flick your eyes forward. Reverse the car out, 'Where do you live?'

'Uh, on Mabery Street. Next to the big tree.'

That isn't too far away. That's not far at all. Your heart skips a beat, and you try to hide your surprise. You're startled, because Piper lives so _near_ to you. To think, all this time you've only been several miles apart. Daniel watches.

'Are you okay?'

No. Just the thought of Piper makes you _shake_. 'Mm.' Look at him. 'Of course.' And, so, you drive onwards. Drop him off, don't stay. Don't meet her. Don't go anywhere near her. 'You can't come to the diner again.' You refuse to explain why. He won't understand. He's too young. 'This is the last you'll see of me okay, kid?'

Daniel is quiet for a very long time. You focus on the road; aren't aware of his expression. His silence is discomforting; you're a tad worried you've made him angry. Quick temper. Like someone else you know. You arrive at Mabery Street, and you spot the big tree Daniel described. There's a nice home standing beside it, a small home, big enough for three.

You park the car, heart in your mouth. No one is inside. The lights are off. It's a snug home, welcoming, curtains open. A driveway, path leading towards the front door. Piper has done well; she's managed. She's coped, and you feel an immense pride. She's managed without you. (Something sharp hits. Makes you _bleed_. Because she has managed _without you_.)

'My name's not kid.'

'What?'

Daniel has tears in his eyes, and he's watching you in disappointment. 'My name's not kid.'

Somehow, you've upset him. _You've upset him_. 'I know.'

'You said that last time.'

'Said what?'

'That I can't see you.' Daniel sniffles, wipes his eye. 'My name's Daniel. It's not kid. And you're mean to me.' He opens the car door, jumps out. You're a little unsure about what's happened, then suddenly remember his bike is in the back of the car. He's forgotten, because he's upset and angry with you. He's already running up towards the house.

You swear. Exit the car, take out his bicycle. He's slammed the front door behind him, toddled into the house alone. A light flickers on inside. You don't have to give him his bicycle. If he's going to be moody and silly, then that's not your problem. Just leave the bicycle by the door. He'll find it later, or maybe Piper will. Hesitantly, you step into the Chapman's driveway.

It's all unfamiliar to you.  
>You do not belong here.<p>

Looking at the door, you raise your fist to knock. Think better of it. Lean the bicycle against the house.

You're not sure why you do this. Your hand curls around the door handle, and it opens. It's all natural, stepping inside. A carpet, small table on the left with a lamp and Catholic cross leaning against it. A staircase opposite. You see the kitchen, the living area. The latter is a small room, one settee, a cushion on the floor in front of the television.

There's another table. Displaying various framed photographs.

Most of them of Daniel. Him at the age he is now, holding a football in his hands, smiling broadly. Another photograph –– a couple years younger. Shorter hair, rounder face, running towards the camera. You realise you're smiling effortlessly, and have to control your expression. Seeing pictures of this child makes you happy, and you consider it weak. A weak quality about you. This family you abandoned is your only joy, and you can't allow that to be so. You can't allow them to have this _hold_ on you. The photographs continue. Daniel in different poses: feeding ducks, on the swings, swimming.

You pick one up. He's a baby, sucking on a dummy, wearing a blue hat and white onsie. Holding him is a woman, blonde, hair down to her shoulders, and she's focussed on the child. The tip of your finger trails over the photograph, and your breath catches in your throat when you see the toy truck, resting on the side. This photograph was taken after you left.

There's a boy watching you in the doorway.

Daniel is fidgeting, pulling on his sleeve, watching you intently.

'When people say mean things––' He hesitates frequently, as if waiting for you to nod, confirm you're listening, '––they gotta say sorry. So we can go back to being happy again.' His expression softens. 'Mummy says saying sorry is very important. If we don't say sorry, then people cry, and nobody likes to cry.'

'That's quite a speech.'

'Mummy says so.' And he expects you to follow Mummy's example.

You smile crookedly. 'I'm sorry I called you "kid".'

A nod. He smiles back. 'Can I still come see you?'

'We need to talk to Piper about that.' He frowns, confused, 'I mean Mummy. We need to talk to her about you seeing me, okay?'

'Okay.'

You return the photograph. 'Have you eaten?'

'I'm not allowed to enter the kitchen without Mummy. She doesn't want me to turn on the cooker.'

Sweet. You think he's sweet. He listens to Piper, obeys her every word. He's a good boy. 'That's nice, but have you _eaten_?'

'Mummy gave me some pasta before she went to work.'

'How long will she be?'

'She comes back when the big hand is on the three, and the little hand is on the eight.' Quarter past eight. Half an hour. You should leave. 'Stay.' Daniel's face lights up. He's excited; he thinks you being here is a wonderful thing. He's wanted you to step inside his home for years. You know you should smile, feel flattered, but you feel everything but. You're dreading the possibility that Piper will step through the door, and see you here, talking to her child.

There's a reason you walked away.

'I can't. You should go your room, wait for her to come back.'

'... Mummy wants to see you.'

'No. No, she doesn't.' You brush past him.

'But you made her cry!'

Stop. Halt. Freeze. You turn to him, furrow your brows, and you're insulted. Confused. What has Piper said about you? 'Exactly. I'm not staying here. The only reason I came back was to give you your fucking bicycle––' He flinches, '––Sorry. Your _bicycle_. I'm not staying here.'

'You like the "f" word a lot.' He whispers, 'And the "s" word, too.'

'Doesn't mean you should like those words as well.' You're getting off the point; you need to focus. You _can't stay here_. 'See you.'

'Wait!' He grabs your hand, ''Member what I said? About saying sorry? If you don't say sorry, then it makes people cry. You need to say sorry to Mummy.'

'Listen, kid–– _Daniel_. Me and your mother have a complicated relationship. I don't think she wants to hear me apologise.' Piper doesn't want you. She doesn't want you _at all_. You walked away. You walked away from this family, this home, this happiness. You walked away from everything you wanted just so your family could be safe. You can't be here. You can't jeopardise their protection. You can't do that to Piper. You can't do that to Daniel. You can't do that to them.

Six years. It's been six years.

If Piper knows any better, she would have moved on.  
>She <em>has<em> moved on.

'Sometimes… sometimes "sorry" doesn't cut it.'

'What d'you mean?'

'Sorry's just a word. You need to _show_ you're sorry sometimes, and–– I _can't_. Not anymore. Your mother doesn't want to hear me say sorry. She doesn't want to see me. And neither should you.' You reach for the doorknob, turn it. 'You're better off without me.'

The tears have returned. His lower lip quivers. You look away. You nearly wince.

Damn it. _Stop crying_.

'That's not fair,' he croaks.

You hate seeing him cry. You _hate_ it. You can't leave him like this. Kneeling down, you wipe his tears with your thumbs, hold his face in your hands. 'We gotta make a deal, all right? Even though you don't understand why I can't see your mother, you _have_ to accept that. It's like if you said something to me which I didn't understand or didn't _get_, I'd still have to accept it, even if it upset me. That's–– _kind of_ like saying sorry, too. We accept what each other says even if we don't agree.'

Another nod. Reluctant. He's pouting. He doesn't want to believe you, but he does anyway. Gullible.

'So, yeah, it's not fair. But you have to accept what I say, even if you don't understand. Deal?' You raise a brow, and he nods again. Wipes his face with his palms. 'Good boy.' More tears well up in his eyes and you sigh, tut, 'Come here.' He willingly falls into your embrace, leans his head on your shoulder. As if you both have embraced each other continuously for years. He may have aged, but not much has changed. There's still this familiarity, this rapport that cannot be shredded.

Daniel tenses. Clutches onto you a little tighter. Frowning, you pull away slightly.

'What's wrong?'

He isn't looking at you, he's looking over your shoulder. The door opens from behind, and you know why he's stiffened, why his eyes are wider, why he suddenly appears so scared. Your heart races while you stand and turn to see who's entered. Six years and nothing has changed –– her hair is neatly tied back, and she wears a white blouse, pencil skirt. She looks like Piper, but a mother, too. The corner of her eyes display faint lines, a sign she's older, a sign it has indeed been six years, even if it's hard to fathom.

You have imagined this happening. This impossibility. You have imagined what you would say, how you would react, whether you would do anything at all.

But, you never imagined yourself to be speechless. You never imagined her to look at you the same way as her son: confused, awed, shocked. Yet there's something else, too. Piper's expression twists: fear. She steps around you, protectively places her hands on Daniel's shoulders, pulls him to her. You are not a visitor, a guest; family. You aren't somebody she wishes to see.

You are someone she used to love, used to know. Someone corrupted by wealth and lordship within the drug ring; you are **danger**. 'Daniel, go upstairs to your room,' she says, voice distant, soft. Daniel glances at you, then rushes upstairs, disappears out of sight. You are left alone with Piper, and she doesn't say anything for a while, watching you, exhausted after a hard day's work. 'How did you get here?'

'Daniel found me. I dropped him off.' You pause. Grab the door handle. 'I was leaving, anyway.' Turn the handle, make a motion to leave––

'Wait!'

She needs to let you go. You're not supposed to be here.

Piper's eyes fall to your uniform. Then back to your face. 'You work at a diner?'

'Yeah.'

'The one just as you leave town?'

'Right.'

'Oh.' She frowns. 'You work at a _diner_?'

'The best I could do. Are we done?'

'How did Daniel find you?'

'I don't know.' You're getting impatient; frustrated. But not with her. With _yourself_. You _want_ her to keep you here, but you _can't stay here_. You gave yourself in for them, you refused to have any communication with Piper for _their_ sake. And it's taking _everything_ in you to walk out again. 'Apparently he heard my name. One of my colleagues must have been talking about me.'

'Alex––'

'I have to go.' You mutter something on the lines of, 'Got an early shift tomorrow,' and finally leave.

_Get out, get out, get the fuck out_. You walk down the path, leading into the driveway, back to your car. Unlock it. Your heart is about to burst, and, suddenly, you're angry. You're fucking angry. Why did Daniel have to find you? Why did Piper have to return _then_? Why does that damn kid keep coming back into your life? Which _fucker_ at the diner was talking about you?

Fuck. _Shit_.

The conversation with Daniel repeats in your mind, the hug, the look on his face when his mother walked in. And Piper. So stunned with your presence, all she can ask is about the fucking _diner_. You drive to your apartment in a hurry, park the car at a relatively awkward angle, but you don't care. You just want to get inside, stay hidden. You don't realise you're scared until you reach your door. The gun feels heavy beneath your uniform, and you pull it out, lean back against the wall.

Cling to the weapon.

Wait several minutes. You hear nothing. It's all in your head.

You're okay. But, it's not you. It's not you –– _you don't care about you_. Your hands don't tremble in fear of your own safety, you are not pressing the gun to your body for _your_ protection.

Slowly, you slip down the wall, catch your breath.

Tell yourself again, again, again:  
><em>They<em>, Piper and Daniel, are okay. They are going to be okay.

_It's all going to be okay._

**.**

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**.**

**author's note**: Like with _Alex_, these chapters will be shorter than usual. This chapter was a monster to write. I had a lot of trouble thinking about how Alex and Piper would behave on meeting for the first time after six years. I don't want to rush anything either, so, I don't know, I just felt Alex _would_ walk out. It's all such a mess right now, but Daniel takes after his mother: _stubborn_. Expect to see Piper reappearing very soon. By the way, Mabery Street and everything else is fiction. Accuracy is not my forte, and I don't care for that stuff anyway; not when a story is this tricky to write. Thank you very much for reading and reviewing. Until next time!


	3. Chapter 3

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Daniel  
><span>**3.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

By seven in the evening, you're the last employee at the diner. Your manager has gone home, as have two others. There's an elderly man seated at the far end, sipping his beverage, staring into space. Two teenagers sitting close together, speaking in hushed voices, sharing a toasty. A man sits at the bar, watching his beer, sighing loudly, miserable. It depresses you to watch the customers, so you clean the coffee machine, around the till. Fortunately you close early today, and you're desperate to leave.

Desperate to go back to a lonely apartment. Cold. The heating broke last night, so you've been walking around wearing a blanket. There's no one waiting for you back home, and, you think, _that's good_. It's good that you're alone. You've wanted to be alone. You _deserve_ to be alone. There's no future for an ex-con, no future for a _bitch_, a corrupt, cruel woman with no sense of morality.

But you are not that person anymore.

Not really.

The solace of family, of having a child –– you've ran away from it for years. Terrified. Love frightens you; it always has. Children are dangerous. They complicate things. _They're complicating_. You've never wanted a fulfilling relationship, you've never wanted love, never wanted the girl. Never wanted a _wife_, never wanted a _child_. None of those things ever occurred to you. So obsessed in succeeding, in surviving this pitiful life you lead, you never thought. Never cared.

Now, you can't understand why you lacked interest in the idea. It's been six years, and you still can't erase the memory of Daniel in your arms; a sweet, gentle baby. So innocent and ignorant of what you are; how he immediately stopped crying whenever you held him, how you, effortlessly, became his mother. Became _his_. Someone to look up to, to follow. _You've become someone responsible_, and it _breaks_ you. Crushes down on your spine.

You can't handle him. You can't handle his sweet nature, his naïvety, his love. You can't handle the way he looks at you, so shocked, mesmerised, awed, _safe_. He's safe. He feels _safe _around you. He wants you to hold him, to welcome him into your life again. Fuck. _Fuck_. He's a baby. A baby who still smiles at you, even when the handcuffs are _engraved_ into your _skin_. Even when you're _drowning_ in sin and crime, he still sees you as nothing more than a mother.

He is what you have wanted since you were a child.

Someone who accepts you. Accepts you for everything you are. And that counts. That matters. That's _so important_. You've been tempted to join another ring, start your own business again, go back to how you once were, but you remember the little family you abandoned. You remember the boy, and you remember Piper, and you all you can do is press the cold gun to your chest, _pray_ that _he_ is not after you. Every second you live in fear, constantly alert of the diner door opening. Your hearts _always_ stops for _one second_ as you glance at the customer, relieved it's not the man you're suddenly petrified of.

The man at the bar eventually leaves. The two teenagers linger, order a coffee. Bored, you grab a newspaper on one of the tables. For the next hour, nothing happens. No more customers arrive. Sometimes, you look over at the door, and it's a bizarre feeling –– you want to see Daniel, hand pressed against the glass, clinging to his toy truck, waiting for your shift to finish. But, at the same time, _you'd panic_. You can't be seen with him, you can't risk Daniel being targeted.

When the teenagers leave, it's time to close. It's still. Dark. You're isolated. The diner is silent. You empty the till, clear away, grab the remaining mugs left on the table. After depositing them in the next room, you return to cleaning the coffee machine.

The door opens. 'Hello?' A woman.

You don't turn to see her. You're busy scrubbing. There's a nasty stain on the machine, and your manager will have a fit if he sees it tomorrow. 'We're closed,' you reply, voice pleasant. Manners are key. You _have_ to be kind, even if you aren't in the mood.

'Alex?' Finally you recognise that voice. You pause, turn, and watch Piper slowly step into the diner. She looks tired; she hasn't been sleeping well. Piper watches you, and you don't know what to say, so you say nothing. You lower the flannel in your hand. 'I was going to get a coffee.' She takes a step back, awkward. 'But... tomorrow.' You don't believe she's come for a coffee.

The only reason she's turned away is because she's confused, she doesn't know how to handle you, and you don't know how to handle yourself either. Your heart is in your mouth, and your hands tremble a little when you say, 'Come on, then.' Piper raises her brows. You don't know what you're doing. _What __**are**__ you doing? Let her go. Let her go, for fuck's sake_. 'I'll be a minute.' You avoid her gaze as she proceeds towards the bar, expression illegible. Grabbing a cup, you begin to make the coffee.

Piper sits down, places her bag onto the bar. You can _feel_ her observing, and it's putting you off. She watches you just like Daniel does. It's freakish how alike they are. Coffee prepared, you pass it over, and she hands you some money. It's quiet. Very quiet. Neither of you speak, and it's frustrating. Because you both always had something to say, always had a topic to discuss.

The silence _pinches_ you. Piper doesn't move, lips parted, and you try your best to distract yourself. Turn back to washing the coffee machine. When she speaks, her voice is soft, 'Do you remember when I worked part-time at a coffee shop? Sometimes, I had to work late at night, and we'd both fill the boot of the car with coffee.' She chuckles. 'You were addicted to that stuff.'

You make the mistake of looking at her. She's wearing a ghost of a smile, lost in reminiscence, hoping you'll respond, you'll laugh, you'll remember too. You keep your expression blunt, stack away mugs onto the shelf. Why is she talking to you? Why has she come here? She _knows_ you both can't see each other. She _knows_ you're in danger. She _knows_ who you are and who you worked for. Silly girl. Silly, _fucking silly girl_. Piper is quiet afterwards; maybe she realises you don't want to talk.

One last clean of the bar. You glance at the time. Piper needs to leave soon. Untying your apron, you fold it, place it aside. 'He told me he met you in prison.' You look at her sharply. Daniel. She's referring to the time Daniel met you during visitation hours. A brief thirty minutes. The first time you both met after turning yourself in. Heart racing, you're worried Piper will scold you. She has every right to. She's his mother, his parent. You were irresponsible. You _are_ irresponsible.

Piper is waiting for a response now. Focussed on you; you've never seen her this way before. Stiff jaw, eyes unmoving –– she wants an answer, and she will get an answer. 'I wasn't expecting him,' you reply bluntly. Keep your answers brief. Short.

'I know. He's always been fascinated in you –– I told him what happened. That you took him in.' She's smiling again, but not at you. Her finger trails over the rim of her mug. 'He's so smart, Al. Determined to know more about you. Of course I was upset he didn't tell me he was going to see you.' Your eyes meet. You look away. 'A friend took him. Do you remember Polly?'

Oh. Yeah. You remember _her_ all right. 'What'd she do that for?'

'Do you think she shouldn't have taken him?'

'Tsk.' You switch off the lights at one end of the diner. 'It was fucking stupid. Taking a four-year-old to see a fucking prisoner. Where were _you_ at the time?'

Piper abandons her coffee. 'Don't talk to me like that, Alex.'

'I'm not a damn kid. Don't talk to me like _that_.'

'If you're not a _damn kid_, then stop acting like one.' Piper is different. She's a woman, a mother, an adult, and she's done so much better than you. You're jealous. You're _jealous_ of her success. Of her freedom. You're jealous of everything about her. 'You've haven't seen me and Dan in _six years_. Don't think you can judge my parenting on the very _little_ information you have about us––'

'Information? You say it as if I'm keeping tabs on you.'

'Well, are you, Alex? Because it certainly seemed odd to me how Dan found you. At a diner. That couldn't have been pure luck.'

'If you paid any attention to your kid, you'd know that he overheard my name during a conversation. He must come here often.'

Piper glares. You've hurt her. 'How––' She jars her teeth. 'I pay plenty of attention to him. We tell each other everything –– there aren't any secrets between us, Alex, which was why I was surprised to see you _inside my home_.'

'He took me there. He–– No, _I_ gave him a lift because I didn't want him going home in the dark. He came to _me_, Piper. He's always come to _me_.' The corner of her lips twitch. You cut through her before she responds, 'I never asked to see him. I left you both, and I don't intend on ruining what you have, all right? But, he came to me, and I'm not his mother, so you tell him off. You tell him to stay away.'

'I'm not going to tell him off because he wanted to _see_ you, Alex. And I know why you left. I–– We talked about it, remember? Before you left, we talked.' Her expression softens. Both of you are quiet, and you watch the events from six years ago pass over her eyes. The heroin, the fights, the abandonment. How you both, somehow, reconciled. Kissed, made love, _started again_, and for what? For you to leave several weeks after? Is that how it's always going to be? Is your relationship with Piper never _stable_?

Is what you both have simply impossible?

Piper drops her gaze. 'I know why you left.'

More silence.  
>It eats you alive.<p>

_Torments_ you.

Even though she's here, even though you can touch her, kiss her, tell her you love her, that you want _this_, you want her, you want Daniel, and you'd give _anything_ for that to be so, you stay put. Back pressed against the wall. And it's _cruel_, twisted, how she wears the suit. The shirt, blazer, heels; how she expresses her status proudly, her well-established career, working for a popular businessman. And you, once a Queen of power, once possessing the crown, _worshipped_, now wear an apron.

You work at a diner. You serve coffee, you get shouted at by men and women who would have once quivered in your presence. You're looked down on. You're a criminal. You're vile, and nobody wants you. You and Nicky have been forced to survive a constant battle, where you are pushed and shoved, spat at. Looking at yourself in the mirror, wearing the uniform, apron, the name tag attached to the breast of your uniform in bold letters –– "I'm **Alex**" –– it was funny once.

Nicky laughed once, and you laughed once.

But you're riddled with pain, with disappointment, with shame. You wanted to be more. You wanted to make your mother proud. Even if your previous career was wrong, _you were rich_. You had money. You had success. You had a reputation. You were able to afford a new home for your mother, a bigger home. Not some shitty apartment. You were able to give her what she deserved.

And, now, you've fallen. Fate has turned on you, and you wear the apron.

You serve. You wait.  
>You live in a shitty apartment, and you sleep with a gun.<p>

How can Piper look at you?  
>How can you look at <em>yourself<em>?

When you raise your gaze, you realise Piper is watching you. Hopelessly. Face gentle with adoration, longing; she knows you. She knows what you're thinking. 'I missed you.' _Stop_. Please _don't_. 'I _miss_ you.' That's all it takes. Just three words and you've given up.

You love her.  
>You <strong>love<strong> her.  
>... and you can't remain distant. You're not strong enough.<p>

You've always been weak, always _submissive_ with Piper, always needing her.

'I miss you, too.' You can't look at Piper, you focus on the wall over her shoulder, conscious of the fact she's watching, she's waiting. She's _daring_ you to move. Say something else. Piper stands, the bar stool scrapes across the floor. Wearing heels, she's at your height, but you feel a lot smaller in comparison. You don't like it; you don't like your lack of control.

Everything you are is _shredding_ into pieces.  
>And Piper's there to catch each one.<p>

Her eyes captivate you. They always have. She's close, and there's a storm. A blizzard, a wreck that you have created yourself: the nights she slept alone, crying into her pillow, wishing you return to her embrace. The mornings she woke up alone, only fighting the grief for the sake of her child. The chore of living without you there. You broke her heart.

You left.  
>You didn't say good bye.<p>

'Alex,' she whispers, and the back of her hand brushes against your cheek. You shiver, lean slightly into her touch, hear her sigh. It's all different, but all the same. 'I know... I know you didn't want me to, but I've–– _waited_. I've wanted to see you. I didn't...' She's rambling, she's puzzled, messing up her words. '... The morning you left, I didn't want to wake up. I just–– I just thought if I kept my eyes closed, it'd all be a dream, and you would still be there.'

A smile. She's laughing at herself. At her own stupidity.

Her hand falls to her side.

'I never thought you'd come back.' She grows tense, holds herself. Averts her gaze. 'I'm sorry.'

You'll hate yourself for this. You'll loathe yourself for this. You grab her arms, kiss her, and you're both shocked, both stunned, frozen as your lips touch. Piper hovers, leans in for another kiss, soft, and your hands loosen as her arms wrap around the back of your neck. It's all natural, all automatic, _there's no thought, no hesitation, you both know what to do, and you can't. You can't._

_No._

_No, no. __**Stop.**_

Piper is so gentle it's _killing_ you. So gentle, her lips brush against yours, press down, once, again, light kisses, fragile, _almost distant_. She exhales, eyes closed. But then you see her properly, see the agony in her expression, the guilt, the necklace hidden beneath her shirt. A thin, golden chain. Piper's next kiss is brief, but harder, desperate, and when she pulls away, you feel attacked. Wounded.

You already know what's wrong.  
>You know what dangles from that necklace. What she's hiding.<p>

There's someone else.

Clenching a fist, you remain attached to the wall. Piper is trying not to cry; she's _trying_. She has to think what's best for her child, and you are not what's best for Daniel. He may love you, he may admire you, he may enjoy your company, _but you are __**dangerous**__. You will always be dangerous. You will always be vermin. You will always be the woman who broke his mother's heart, __**used**__ her, __**manipulated**__ her. You will always be the woman who chose the drugs._

_This––_

_**This is on you.**_

A ring. An engagement ring is attached to the necklace. You haven't seen it, but you don't need to.

You should not have kissed her.  
>You've <em>torn<em> her apart.

_You fool. You __**fool.**_

'What's his name?'

His. You know it's a he. You know it's a man.

Your worst fears have been realised.

Piper doesn't have to answer. She doesn't have to say a word. She takes her bag from the bar. Lightly touches her lips, looks at you. And you can't believe what you're seeing, you can't believe you can read her so _fucking well_. He is a _good_ man. He is a _good_ father. He is a _good_ husband. He is _good_. He is _kind_. He is _wonderful_. He does not have a drug lord chasing after him, he does not sleep with a gun, he is not fucked up. He is a normal, average man with a full-time job and an ambition to become Daniel's father.

Ready to replace you.

If you were selfish, greedy, you'd hate her. You'd hate her for _moving on_.

You've always been selfish.  
>Always been greedy.<p>

But, you don't hate her. You don't _blame_ her.

The only person who's fucked up, who's bad, the only person who deserves to be tortured, is you.

Piper _deserves better than you. She has always deserved better_.

'I don't––' Piper stops. Voice cracks under the weight of her betrayal. 'I'm sorry.' She's lost her voice, her control, she's _lost_. You do nothing.

You've got nothing left.

Piper holds your gaze, and she opens her mouth to speak again, and your heart ceases beating, your breath catches in your throat, but she stops. She takes a step forward, a step back. Blinks. Turns around and leaves the diner, without looking back.

You don't move until you hear the car reverse, drive down the road, gone.

Blood drips from the marks she's left. You feel weak at the knees, you struggle, _you try, try, try to not let her hurt you again_. But, when you've switched off the lights, locked the diner, sat in your car, you wait. You stare at the steering wheel, and you wait. You wait for it to finally hit. _**She is not yours.**_ You've lost her. She is no longer yours, she will never be yours. And neither will he, neither will the child; your family are no more. You're too late. _You're too late_.

Buried in your guilt, your failure, with only the darkness to keep you company, you rest your elbows onto the steering wheel. Pause. And allow the final cut to _slice_ through you –– you allow it all to become undone. You shield your face in your hands.

Quietly, silently, weep.

**.**

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	4. Chapter 4

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Daniel  
><span>**4.**

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**.**

Two days pass and you foolishly believe you're alone. It's disturbing how _relieved_ you feel –– relieved that _finally_ you're alone; no child retracing your footsteps, chasing after an oblivion so impossible to reach. Maybe Piper has told him, _advised him_, to stay far away from you. That necklace –– _the ring_ –– imprints in your mind, and you find yourself having to move on _again_. You have been absent for six years, you will be absent for another sixty years; maybe it's best this way.

Maybe some people are just better off alone.

You don't think about the kiss. You force yourself to believe the kiss is nothing; the kiss is a mistake, and Piper is a mistake too. Now is your opportunity to start afresh. Whatever that means. You're already doing well; don't ruin it because of her. Stay at the diner, and, possibly when you have enough money, enough to write on your resumé, skip town. Run away. Disappear.

It's what you're brilliant at.

Emily is young, early twenties, and she's around you often. You haven't received so much attention from a younger woman in a very long time, so naturally you don't recognise her behaviour, until later that afternoon when she starts asking personal questions. General questions, but still personal. And she's smiling crookedly, leaning against the bar while you pour a customer their drink.

'What's your favourite TV show?' 'Do you have a favourite colour too, Alex?' 'I used to like pink, but now I just think it's gross. I guess that happens when you get older, I don't know. Your eyes are a nice colour.' 'So, where does your mum live?' 'How are you settling into your new apartment?' 'If–– If you need help settling in, you have my number, so just call me. You do have my number, right?' 'I can cover your shift at some point if you need extra time to move in properly. Or are you all right?' 'Do you have plans sometime this week?'

Eventually, you look at her. There's a faint redness in her cheeks, and her brows are raised expectantly. She is young, but young women have always felt _lured_ towards you. Oh, it's been so long. You can't resist. Pushing your glasses over your head, you turn your attention on her completely and, instantly, she seems to react. Like they always did. An effortless, timid smile, eyes a little wide. 'Don't be shy, kid. Just be blunt. We both know what's on your mind. No point keeping it in now.'

Swallowing, Emily shrugs; the smile lingers. 'I–– I didn't want to seem forward.'

'Hm. Manners. _Be_ forward. I like that in a woman.'

Emily exhales softly as your attention is diverted to a customer. He asks for a coffee, you write down the order and pass it to the Emily. She stutters slightly but immediately gets to work. It's easy. It's cute. Peering over your shoulder, you watch her prepare the beverage, flustered. And, you realise –– despite the brown hair, the apron, the darker eyes, she reminds you of Piper. You're not sure if it's the agony of losing her, the fact you _miss her every fucking second_, but Emily is like her.

Like the girl at the bar.

After she's served the man his coffee, Emily looks at you, fiddles with the cuff of her sleeve. 'So––' She shrugs, '––I'll be forward, then. Go for a drink with me.'

A smirk. 'Better.'

'I want an orange juice please.'

Your heart stops. You're stunned, and you don't move while Emily faces the customer. She beams wide, 'Aw, hello, sweetie. It's lovely to see you again. Just an orange juice?'

'Yep!' Daniel has noticed you, but you pretend to ignore him. 'But I want _her_ to make my orange juice.'

Groaning, you mumble "don't you ever go to school?", then remember it's a Saturday. Fuck. Idiot, idiot. _Of course_ Daniel is going to come back. Emily passes you the child's order, 'Guess he's not the only one who's forward to you this morning.'

You snatch the order from her. Give her a look. Daniel sits on a stool, and watches you intently as you prepare his cool drink. You fill up a glass, and you have no choice but to turn and look at him. He's smiling, feet kicking the air, excited, tiny hands on the bar, reaching out for his drink. Sliding the glass over, you lean forwards and he has a huge gulp, before placing the glass aside.

'Mm! This orange juice is _so much_ nicer than Mummy's.'

'Yeah, that juice isn't exactly one-hundred percent pure fruit, kid. What has she been giving you?'

'The orange juice she gives me has bits in it. For healthiseness.' Daniel scowls, drinks some more, 'It's _gross_.' He shoves a hand into his pocket and passes you a five dollar note. 'You make nicer juices than _she_ does,' he pointedly looks at Emily who's busy with another customer.

You snort. Take the money. 'Does your mum know you're here?'

Daniel sighs heavily. 'I'm allowed to spend my pocket monies when I wanna.' That's his answer, and you're not very satisfied. Damn kid. If he's here without Piper's permission, then it won't _just_ be Daniel who'll get in trouble. You slide the money back.

'It's on me,' you say.

He frowns, confused. But accepts the money either way. 'It must be so _cool_ working here!'

'Oh, yeah? What makes you say that?'

''Cos you can get orange juice when you want!'

You smile, and have to admit he has to be your favourite customer. Daniel continues drinking while you return to work, and he's surprisingly patient, swinging his feet on his stool. At one point, he asks for another drink, and each time you see him, there's a glimmer of Piper shining through. But, you can bare it. For Daniel, you bare it, because you still love the child. He's still the baby you held in your arms, still the reason you quit the heroin, still your little saviour. And he's clueless.

Utterly clueless.

You're tempted to ask about _him_. The other one. His potential father.

Scared. You're too scared. You don't know how Daniel will react. You don't know if he'll talk about him with a grin, excited, happy. You don't know if he'll start crying at the mention of him. You don't know. You don't _want_ to know, and so you're quiet mostly. 'Can we play catch sometime?' He asks out-of-the-blue. You twitch a smile. Yeah, why not? You'll do what it takes to make him happy.

He's your companion. He stays at the bar, welcomes you as you return from serving a customer. Each time, he beams, too excited. _So excited to be with you_. He's a beautiful boy; everything you remember. While you prepare a hot chocolate, he pushes his toy truck across the bar, making _vroom_ noises as he does. He catches the attention of several customers, and you're frequently asked if he's yours. You say he's a friend. It's not a lie, but not the whole truth either. Daniel smiles at you, returns to his truck.

By three in the afternoon, the diner is busy, packed, and you can't listen to him as he tries to talk to you. Eventually, Daniel gives up trying, but still waits. He's silent. Painfully so, and you want to apologise, hold him, but you have to work and you hate it. You don't want him to leave _just yet_. After an hour, you're able to look at him, make sure he's okay, and he's wincing a little.

'You all right?'

A nod. 'Mm.' A smile.

It doesn't occur to you yet. You grab a tray, approach a table filled with empty glasses and plates, stack them, wipe the surface. Turn to the bar, and Daniel is struggling out of his stool. Nothing occurs to yet, but it's instinct. You narrow your brows, feel your heart pound against your chest when you realise he's _panicking_. He's _terrified_. Face flushed, breaths heavy––

The tray nearly slips from your hands. You slam it onto a nearby table, hurry to him. He's wincing, trying to inhale, and it's harsh, _forced_, and he's––

He can't breathe.

What. What. _What_?

He's panicking. Crying. Scared. Why can't he breathe? Why is he _suffocating_?

'Oh, dear. Does he have an inhaler?' Emily comes over, calmer.

Inhaler?

You're confused. Daniel clutches onto your sleeve.

Asthma.

He's suffering an asthma attack.

As far as you're concerned, Daniel does not _have asthma_. He doesn't, he doesn't have asthma. What the _fuck_ is going on? It's all instinct. Natural. Like a reflex. Everything you do, just _happens_. You glare at her, 'Call 911!' She realises her mistake, she realises he does not have an inhaler, she realises he does not have asthma attacks and rushes for a phone. Already Daniel has faces turned towards him. You ignore them.

He wants to get off the stool. He's trying to talk––

Gently, _so gently_, you lift him off, help him sit on the floor. Daniel is crying, wide eyed, breathing fast, ragged. His hand is clinging to your sleeve desperately. 'Hey, hey, shh.' You can't panic. You aren't allowed to panic. You have to help him. You don't get to run away. 'I got you, okay?' Your voice is soft, quiet –– _calm_. 'I need you to breathe. Slow. You're going to be all right. It's okay.' You're not sure what you're saying, and you demonstrate inhaling slowly, and he concentrates on you, blue, watery eyes _assaulting _you with so many emotions. 'Do that for me, Daniel, try and breathe _in_.' He holds you tighter, tries his hardest to suck in as much air as possible, then you demonstrate exhaling slowly too, and he tries to follow.

Miraculously you ease the child slightly. A woman has approached, an inhaler in hand, 'Give him this. It should so something.' You take the inhaler, and Daniel starts to breathe rapidly again, staring at the inhaler in horror.

'Baby, it's okay, it won't hurt you––' You remove the cap, 'It's going to be okay. It's all going to be okay,' the inhaler touches his lips, and you help him as he takes the medicine. Daniel scrunches his eyes closed, tears pour down his cheeks, and he trusts you as he inhales sharply.

Somebody asks you a question. You ignore him. Place the inhaler aside, and Daniel calms down eventually, cheeks flushed, exhausted. The same man talks to you, and you don't realise he's a paramedic until he kneels down next to you. He wants to take Daniel to the hospital. Daniel doesn't like him, but he has a friendly face, and sympathises with you. He's seen this sort of thing happen before.

'His mum –– Uh, you need to contact his mum. I'm not his mum.'

The paramedic nods. 'Ah, okay. We will contact her, but we need to take him with us.'

'I'm going with him.'

'... I'm sorry, are you a relative?'

Daniel willingly falls into your embrace, and you carefully lift him up. He rests his head on your shoulder, absolutely beaten. You aren't letting him go. 'I'm not leaving his side.' You're not angry. Nor annoyed. But, you're stubborn and you refuse to stay behind. The paramedic has no time to argue. You don't care you're quitting your shirt too early. Daniel is heavier than you remember, but you don't care; you hold him close.

The ambulance van waits just outside. 'Is he breathing all right?'

You listen to him. 'Yes. I gave him an inhaler, but he's never had an attack before.'

'Right. Well, you're keeping him calm, so whatever you're doing, keep doing it.'

But you're not doing anything particularly impressive. Just holding him. And you're reminded of each time Daniel stopped crying as a baby whenever he was in your arms. Like that time you went to see Piper's parents. How he was in hysterics to not be carried by you. How he only settled when you held him again. It still doesn't make sense why he feels so safe with you.

He always has.

You are glad to be here with him. Sitting in the back of the van, a female paramedic makes sure he's okay, and he's sleeping. She steps back, smiles a little, tells you to inform her if anything happens. But nothing will. It's peaceful as you hold him. He's okay.

_He's okay._

You're overwhelmed.

You're in shock.

Whenever you're in shock, you feel numb, you're motionless, frozen. Whenever you're in shock, you have to wait for the worst to happen. You have to wait for the pain, the _relief_. You saved Daniel's life, and you would do it again, countlessly. You'd give your _own_ life for him.

You're sorry for disappearing. Sorry for abandoning him six years ago.

Sorry for not being more.

You're sorry you aren't his mother.

You're sorry you are a disappointment. You're sorry you've become so little and insignificant. And you're sorry you care _so much_ for this child. You're sorry for all of it.

The van stops. The paramedic asks you to follow. You hate hospitals. Daniel starts to stir, whimpers, and clings to your uniform, wanting you to continue holding him. _Don't let go_. You don't want to leave him here. Leave him with diseased patients, leave him all alone. You hold him, kiss his cheek, and he's okay. You're taken into the emergency room, and a doctor soon appears.

'Are you the mother?'

'Yes.'

'Okay. This shouldn't take long.'

Daniel grabs your hand. You reconsider moving away. Sit him on your lap while the doctor examines him. You're told your baby is going to be fine –– but he does, indeed, have asthma. Very common for children his age. Nothing to worry about. Daniel starts fiddling with his toy truck. He's lost interest. The doctor walks away to fetch something. You kiss the back of his head.

'You're so brave, aren't you? Very brave.'

Daniel looks at you. 'Can we go home now?'

Before you can answer, you watch a man, around your height, black hair, pale complexion, green eyes, dressed in an office suit, come forward. There's a band on his left, fourth finger. He stops at the bed, and Daniel beams, stretches out his arms for the man to hold him. 'Hey, Danny! Aren't you a tough cookie? Come here.' You're stunned, and when he takes Daniel from you, you're defeated.

Daniel is grinning wide, clutches his toy truck as the man holds him steadily.

'Mummy will be here soon. We were so _worried_,' he kisses his cheek, and then looks over at you. You expect a scolding; cruel remarks. Admittedly, his smile does fall a little, but his voice is kind, 'Thank you so much. I really hope your boss doesn't give you hassle for helping a customer out.'

A customer?

... a _customer_?

Oh.

Oh, of course. That's what you are. A diner girl. Just _someone_.

You stand. His eyes are a dark green, very dark black hair. Glasses tucked in his shirt pocket.

'I'm Daniel's father,' he smiled. 'Not just some random bloke, haha. It's Steven.'

'Alex.'

'Thank you, Alex. I'll tell my fiancé, Piper, that you helped out. We'll come over one day, give you a tip.'

Father.

_You're not his father. You're not __**his**__. I'm his mother. __**I'm his mother. He's mine**__.  
><em>_... he's my baby._

_My baby._

Daniel is too preoccupied with his toy truck and his "father". They've forgotten your existence, and you feel like a twelve-year-old all over again. Irrelevant. Unwanted. You watch Daniel, as if hoping he'll remember you're there, but he forgets. He's six, and he doesn't realise.

But you let him hurt you.

Break you.  
>Tear you down.<p>

You try to smile. Try to accept the situation. But you can't. You look away.

You fail.

You're no longer needed, so you walk out of the emergency room, through the doors. You feel sick, you're going to be sick –– _it hurts. It fucking hurts_. Daniel doesn't need you. Doesn't want you. He forgot about you as soon as he saw _him_. Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck––

You pass Piper on your way out.

Her shoulder bumps into yours, and she's rushing, frightened, and she looks at you, wide eyed, pauses in her tracks. Looks at you the exact same way Daniel did during the attack. Helpless. Piper is a mother, and she puts her child first, and she doesn't say a word to you. You let her go. You let her turn back around, hurry through towards the emergency room where Daniel waits.

The diner calls for you. You take the bus, you refuse to cry this time. You won't cry. Even if all hope you once had has been torn to pieces.

Somehow, you gave everything.

Ended with nothing.

**.**

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**author's note**: Before you go ape shit about Daniel's behaviour, that is what children do. It simply doesn't occur to them. If Daniel sees his father walking into the hospital to pick him up, he's going to be overjoyed. That does not mean he doesn't care about Alex anymore or loves her less. He's too immature in that regard to realise the issue. Of course he isn't aware that he's upset Alex and, frankly, she shouldn't be upset. It's what kids do. Still, it fucking hurts when you're replaced like that.

Anyway, thank you very much for your amazing feedback on the previous chapter. I'm sorry for the slow updates. Real life is getting in the way.


	5. Chapter 5

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Daniel  
><span>**4.**

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––_stop screaming, stop screaming, stop screaming–– __**Bang**__. A body falls to the ground. Blood spills your palms, and it's exactly how you pictured it. And, bizarrely, that's all you register at that point. It's exactly how you imagined. It's precisely how it should be. __**Bang**__. You flinch. __**Bang**__. The body is crawling towards you, and all you see is the gun, the grin, and you're selfish, and wait for the bullet to hit. You wait for the gun to be raised in your direction––_

_**Bang**__._

_**Bang**__._

_**Bang**__._

––_the screaming ceases._

_You realise the bullet _has_ hit. Multiple times. _

_**Bang**__._

_Again. It hits again. Blood; there's so much blood. It's like a fucking ocean. You're drowning. The waves crash into you mercilessly, your limbs are weak, and finally you look at the body crawling towards you. It's stopped moving, motionless. Blood. Red liquid splattered across his white t-shirt, staining the ground beneath his still corpse. _

_Yet you hear his screams again. His wails. The tears pouring down his cheeks, eyes wide and blue and innocent and sweet and confused. And petrified. Daniel isn't crying anymore. He's been silenced by the man holding the gun. You can't move. You want to hold him, shake him awake, he needs help and you're _destroyed_ by a thousand stabs, pinches, and you can _feel_ your heart falling to pieces all over again and you're utterly useless. _

_Your baby doesn't cry for you anymore._

_Blond hair dripping with red. _

_**Bang**__._

––_No, stop––_

_**Bang**__._

_The corpse flinches as each bullet hits. You still can't move. Your body refuses to move, and you're trying to speak, but but but––_

_You can't._

_You can't move because you're only meant to observe. You see through the eyes of somebody else, and each raw emotion feels so fucking real. Daniel is dead. Shot by men you have feared ever since you left the prison. It's real. It's happening. _

_Speak. _Speak_. No, no, no, no, no––_

You're awake suddenly, catching yourself by surprise. It takes a couple of seconds for you to adjust, but by that point it's too late. So vivid. You can still hear his screams. His body crawling towards you. _Pooled in blood_. Sweat glistens over your forehead, and you feel unclean, disgusting. Whipping off the sheets, you realise you're out of breath, you're trembling, and it's too hot. You move. You're able to stand on your feet, approach the window, tug open the blind.

It's not morning yet. It's dawn, and the sun hasn't risen. You yank the window open, and a gust of fresh air enters the bedroom. Hands pressed against the windowsill, you close your eyes and greedily embrace the cold breeze. Daniel is still there –– motionless. He's motionless, he's not moving, stopped breathing, and there isn't a thing you can do––

Stop. No. Stop it. Fuck. You swear, wipe your eyes. Daniel is fine. It was a dream. Just a bad dream. _But why can you still hear him screaming?_ Your ears _bleed_. What you do is next is completely irrational. You're not sure what makes you do this. It doesn't make sense. You shower, dress in jeans, v-neck top, hoody and leave the apartment. It's not even six o'clock yet. You can't do this, _but you must_. You're almost _convinced_ Daniel is dead.

It's a miracle you're able to drive. You remember the directions to their home. You don't even have to remember; the map is _engraved_ in your mind. Twenty minutes later, you've arrived and you wait in the car. Stare at the time. You can't do this. Turning your head, you see the curtains are closed, lights are off; they're sleeping. Aren't they? Fuck. What do you know?

Love drags you to your feet. Fear pushes you towards the door. Loss causes you to knock.

Half a minute passes, and a light switches on in one of the rooms. Another thirty seconds, and the porch light beams through, just before Piper steps out, in a dressing gown, hair a little messy, mascara smudged –– she didn't have time to remove her makeup. So exhausted. She's annoyed to be disturbed at first, but when she sees you, she stops in her tracks. You stare at each other through the glass, until she slowly opens the door, silent.

'I wanted to check on Daniel.'

Piper blinks. Expression soft. 'Y–– He's sleeping.'

'Is he all right?'

She nods. 'Would you like to come in?'

'I can't.'

'Please. I want to talk.'

You walked away once. Yet still came back. What point is there in walking away now? Piper waits patiently, but you can see the hope, the longing which she should hide from you. But you're both weak, you're both exhausted, and you're both retired from pain. Piper must have been overwhelmed these past few days, and she's still fighting to keep her small family going without you –– just as you wanted. She's welcoming you back, she wants you back.

It's all fucked up. Confusing, but you follow her inside anyway. It's cosy. She switches a light on in the kitchen and you follow her. She starts to prepare coffee. The kitchen is fairly small, big enough for two. Exactly the same as it was the last time you were here. You're awkward and linger in the doorway, one hand shoved in your pocket.

Already, you're calmer. The dream begins to evaporate.

'Look, I––'

'Listen, I––'

Both of you stop. Smile. Piper speaks first, 'Thank you for yesterday.'

'The kid needed help. It was nothing.'

'It wasn't nothing.' Piper's finger trails over the rim of an empty mug. 'He asked where you went. You just disappeared.'

'I didn't want to get in the way.'

'Of what?'

'Your family.'

She frowns. You regret your tone. Fold your arms, lean against the wall. Piper is about to say something, but the kettle is boiled and she prepares the coffee instead. You watch. Start thinking about that man, Steven –– what he is to her. She turns around to pass you your mug, and you look at her lips. Slightly moist, and you remember how soft they are, gentle, and wonder if _he_ has enjoyed kissing them too. Piper is frozen, and your eyes meet.

Her exhale is delicate, and her eyes fall, then back up at you again. You think you would kiss her if she was yours. You like to believe the mug would slip from your hands, you'd grab her by her gown, and press your lips to hers. That she'd react, kiss you back, _beg for you to come back_, that she'd forget all the plans she made before you returned, and _start again with you_. That you'd both make love with each other until morning, and she'd forget the ring which dangles from her neck, and just want you.

But you both don't touch each other.

You hold the mug. She steps back. 'I need to tell you––' She takes her mug. 'I need to tell you what's going on.' _It's after the crash, and she's yelling at you, asking if you were high, and you, yelling as well, __**demanding**__ she stop crying, and she just kept on crying because seeing you, in your drugged-state, bleeding temple, close to death –– she couldn't handle it. You, __**you**__, you monster. Causing her one trauma after the next. Everything in her life is ruined because of you and you cannot –– will not –– ruin this. This beautiful, beautiful home she's made._

The coffee is forgotten. 'He seems nice,' you say, referring to Daniel's potential father. You can't even _think_ of his name without feeling _bitter_.

'You didn't want me to wait for you. We–– I never thought you'd come back.'

'No, I didn't want you to wait. That would be stupid.'

'... But you came back...'

'I'm sorry I disappointed you––'

'Will you stop trying to be funny?'

'I'm not.' You scoff, roll your eyes. 'Do you think I wanted to come back? Daniel found me, Piper. He keeps coming back to the diner, and yesterday–– I don't know what happened. One moment he was fine, the next he was––' Your voice catches. Tears sting your eyes. Piper looks away. _She can't bear the sight of you falling apart_. 'I took him to the emergency room with me. I never left his side––' Your voice is cracking, it's shaking and you sound pathetic. 'I was going to stay, but then your fiancé came, and he's–– he's nice and _he's not supposed to be nice, Piper_.'

Because if he's nice, what chance do you have? Because if he's nice, you can't hate him. You can feel jealous, but you can't hate him. If he takes care of your child, loves your child, and is everything your child needs, _you_. _can't_. _hate_. _him_. Piper is quiet, covers her mouth with her hand, and still avoids your gaze. You place the coffee mug aside and she jumps to her feet, terrified you're about to leave, but you don't move and you're both stunned at her response.

You need to help her.

So, you sit at the table, and she hesitantly does the same. You lean across, hands on the surface, and she watches you quietly. You're not sure if it's sympathy in her eyes or longing. Maybe both. You don't know. You don't know much. 'When did you meet him?'

'Four years ago.'

'Oh.'

'He was friends with Polly. We met at one of her parties. Or whatever it was. He asked me to marry him a year ago. I decided to accept his proposal about three months ago.' You raise a brow. 'I wanted to be sure he was right for him, Alex.'

'Well, Daniel seems fond of him from what I can tell.'

Piper waits for your delayed reaction. How abandoned you felt when Daniel forgot about you and let Steven hold him. The fact he appeared happier, _so much happier_, and even if you hated it all, you had to admit –– it looked right. _It looked right_. The father and his son. What are you? An ex-con, and nobody cares about ex-cons, not even six-year-olds.

'Being with him –– Daniel –– for the day... I liked it. It was really nice.'

Perfect. It was perfect, and everything you could ever dream of. Piper says nothing, and you finally react, and it's a gentle reaction. One of defeat. You sigh, turn to the window, and it's starting to rain. _Pit, pit, patter_ across the glass. 'You never liked children,' she says.

'I still don't. They're gross.'

'Not all of them.'

'Most of them. Smell.'

'That––' Piper smiles, 'They don't smell!'

You have to smile too. Because, still, nothing has changed. 'Daniel's the exception.'

'Hm. I think he makes you the exception as well.' Both of you keep your gazes fixed, and it's _so easy to fall over again. _Those nights and mornings when you used to lay in bed together, watching, studying, admiring each other's eyes –– _lost_. No matter how many times you both used to do that, it was never enough. There's still so much to see. Your heart skips a beat. You lean back, look away. 'Are you safe?'

'... Yeah.' No. No, you're not safe. You barely sleep at night, and you're constantly paranoid of who's behind your shoulder. 'I mean, safer than I assumed I would be. Nothing's happened.'

'What does that mean?'

You fiddle with a coaster. '... I sleep with a gun.'

'You_ what_?!' Piper leans forwards, eyes wide. 'Jesus _fuck_, Alex.'

'It's fine, all right? I've been fine.'

'If you're hiding a gun under your fucking pillow, you're obviously not fine.'

'Just paranoid. Keep seeing the same fucking black van passing my flat every five minutes, but I haven't heard anything, y'know, _unusual_.' Piper is horrified, and you quickly add, 'If anything happens, I'll be fine; shooting a gun is second nature to me.'

'Oh. Yeah. I remember all those times you went to the shooting range––'

'It's not rocket science. If some slack-jawed meth-head who doesn't know his ABCs can do it, then so can I.'

'I hate to break this to you, but you don't _need_ to know your ABCs in order to fucking _kill somebody_.'

'Probably get a baseball bat instead. Smash that fucking van with it, or if they enter my apartment and I can just crack his head open.'

'That's if you don't miss.'

'I won't miss.'

She doesn't believe you.  
>You don't believe yourself either.<p>

What does it matter, anyway? Whether you die or not? Will it matter?

_You can't have her._

Piper's hands slip off the surface of the table. You sit, opposite one another, torn, for several minutes, and neither of you say a word. Another minute passes. Nothing's changed, _nothing's going to change. You can't wait. You can't wait for her. You can't wait for Daniel_. 'I'm skipping town.'

'No...'

'I'm in danger.'

Piper doesn't move for a moment, then she shakes her head, and she can't believe you. _She can't believe you're doing this_. After everything, you're _doing this_? You're both stubborn. Too proud. Pathetic women with no chance in surviving this cruel, fucked up world without each other. Yet, you both –– **you** –– keep running away.

You've hurt her. Again.

(_And she doesn't expect an apology._)

'You can't leave me.'

It's the last thing you want to hear. It's not fair. _It's not fair, how can she not understand that?_ 'Haven't I already?' Your voice is only faintly familiar. Piper stares. Her shoulders slump. _Haven't we both left each other already?_ She knows she can't ask for you, not when she's engaged, not when her son is happy and satisfied with life. She can't. She can no longer be selfish.

Fool.

Oh, you fool.

There's a boy in the doorway. Dressed in striped, blue pyjamas, holding a red truck in his left hand. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. 'Dan, what are you doing up?' In a flash, Piper is kneeling beside him, but he's okay. You know he's okay. He just wants to know who Mummy is talking to. You feel tense, unwelcome, and you consider leaving.

But Daniel has seen you, and he smiles. Piper glances between you both.

'You remember who that is?' She asks.

Daniel nods, very pleased. 'It's Alec.'

Piper chuckles. You grin. '_Alex_. Not Alec.'

'Uh... _Alec_.'

'Alec's cool. Close enough, kid,' you say.

'That's just as well. We'll be going over this for the next six hours.' Piper cuddles her son, one arm around his middle. 'You're just in time for breakfast, baby. I was going to make you your favourite scrambled eggs and baked beans. Like the sound of that?'

'Mm!' Daniel jumps in the air, very excited. 'Is Alec going to be having breakfastes with us too?'

Piper glances at you. 'I can make––'

'No, don't worry.' You stand. Daniel's smile falls. 'I'll come back soon, all right? Or, if Mummy is okay with it, I can make _you_ breakfast one day.' Mistake. Why would you suggest such a thing? You don't feel safe in your own apartment. You'd have to be idiotic to invite Daniel.

It's too late to correct your mistake. Daniel is jumping up and down again. 'I wanna have Alec's brekafastes right now!'

'Pft. Calm down, baby,' Piper runs her hand through his sandy hair. 'Me and Alex will talk about it, all right?'

'Then I can have _two_ Mummies!'

You flick your gaze to Piper, who tenses slightly. 'Still believes that, does he?' You ask.

She shrugs. 'Well... it's true, isn't it?'

Maybe.

Maybe so.

Piper breaks from your gaze, 'Say good bye to Alex.'

'Bye bye! Oh, wait! Mummy, I want to show Alec my inteller.'

You frown. Piper laughs. 'In_haler_. If Alex doesn't mind, you can quickly show her. Is that all right?'

'Yeah.' You don't even need to be asked. Of course you'll see his inhaler, you'll do whatever Daniel wants. Kneeling down, you wait while Daniel shoves a hand into his pocket and shows you his inhaler. Blue. A colour he must be pleased with. '_Wow_.' You take the inhaler. 'That is so cool. But you can only use this when you need to, all right?'

'I have to give it to Mummy, but she said I can look after it if I stayed in the same beds with her.'

'Look at you.' You trail a thumb over his cheek, 'What a big boy you are. You look so much better from when I last saw you.'

'Mummy takes good care of me! Gives me hot choculate when I want!'

You gasp. 'No, really?' Tut. 'Mummy spoils you _rotten_.' You playfully poke his belly, and he giggles. It's a delight watching him like this; you can't hold back a smile. It's as if the dream never happened. Here he is, happy as ever. Looking wonderful. _Wonderful_. 'I got to go, kid. Super cool inhaler. I'm really jealous.' He's overjoyed, and you pass back the inhaler, kiss his forehead, and stand.

Instantly Daniel is distracted by his red toy truck, and while he's busy playing, Piper escorts you towards the front door. It's time to leave, and you're not sure if you want to. Can you stay? _Should_ you stay? No. No, you can't and you shouldn't. This is not your home. You step out of the porch. Piper pauses at the door, in her gown, now fully awake.

You turn to her, smile a little. 'Well, see ya.'

'I know you don't want to, but you can come back.' Piper clenches, unclenches a fist. 'He likes it when you're around and... so do I. You're good for him.'

Neither of you have departed, and you already miss her. Miss him. Miss them. You endure such a _strong_, fierce pull, and more than anything in the world, you want to walk back inside and never come out again. You'd be happy with that. You'd be okay with that. Yet, your mind is screaming, telling you _no_. You can't. There are so many reasons why.

It can't.

_We can't be no more_.

Piper's lips are soft, delicate on your cheek. One kiss. Ghostly. Barely there. It paralyses you in place; your body relaxes, and she steps back, closes the door and vanishes out of sight.

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**author's note**: A speedy update, but I doubt you're complaining about that. Now, I've been receiving a lot of hate for Piper and her actions which, personally, I feel are very unjustified. So I've written a post on Tumblr to defend her actions. It's not easy being a mother, especially a single mother, and I guess I'm just protective over her. Also, _stop asking about the money_. That money was for Daniel specifically. When Alex left to turn herself in, she opened a new account under Daniel's name and transferred all of her money over to him. She did this out of love for her son, and she _doesn't_ want it back. That money is Daniel's, not Piper's and Piper would never touch the money anyway. No one is spending that money. The only person who will is Daniel when he is old enough to spend it wisely.

Thank you very much for your amazing feedback! I'm shocked at how much you are enjoying this 'verse. Until next time!


	6. Chapter 6

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Daniel  
><span>**6.**

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**.**

**.**

From the other room, you can hear your mobile ringing. It's early; seven in the morning and your shift starts in an hour. You can't talk long. You grab your mobile, glance at the screen –– _unknown caller_. Don't pick up. It would be silly to pick up. But, you feel okay about this one. You have a hunch that whoever's calling you is _safe_. Someone you can trust, someone who's on your side.

You press the phone to your ear. Wait. A young boy stutters on the other end, '_I––Is this Alec_?'

Tensing, you frown. How on earth did he find your number? Daniel is such a handful, and you don't even live with him. 'Yes.' You roll back your shoulders. It's time to play mother. 'You shouldn't be calling me, Daniel. Also, how were you able to? Where did you get my number from?'

'_Uh, I–– Uh... Um..._'

'Look, I'm not mad at you, all right?' You underestimate how much power you have over this child. You need to watch your tone. You need to be careful. You can't handle the thought of _scaring_ him. 'It's just very important you tell me what's going on. Did your mum give you permission?' There's silence on the other end. Of course. 'Daniel, I know you're there. I can hear you breathing.'

'_I wan'ed to say good morning_.'

Six words and you're defeated. He wants to say good morning; he's thought about you and he dialled your number. Which he somehow obtained. Jesus Christ. This kid is crafty. Why does he remind you of yourself when he does this? You feel sympathy for your late mother. Were you this much of a hassle too? 'You have school. Are you dressed and ready to go?'

'_Mm! I got my tie on and shirt. Mummy says I am vewy handshome_.'

You smile crookedly. 'She has an eye for good looks.'

'_The lady at the diner gives me your numbers. Uh, I can't remember her name, um_––'

'Did it begin with an "E"?'

'_Yeah! You make better oranges juices than her_.'

Fucking Emily again?! You grind your teeth together. 'Daniel, you need to be careful. I don't–– I'd rather you just spoke to me in that diner. I don't want you talking to anybody else. We clear on that?'

'_Are you angwy at me...?_'

'No.' _I'm scared for you. I'm worried about you. I don't want you bumping into the wrong people. I don't want you hurt. I want you safe. __**I want you safe**_. 'I actually think you're smart.'

'_R–– Really?_'

'Yeah, really.' Leaning against the doorframe leading into the kitchen, you listen to him hesitate. You can imagine him smiling at the compliment. So gullible and sweet. You feel a sudden pinch. And it hurts. It fucking hurts. Suddenly, you miss her, and you miss him, and this apartment is dark and lonely. The only two people who like you, who acknowledge your existence, can't be with you. It breaks your heart all over again, and the reaction is delayed, far too delayed. You clear your throat, try to regain your composure. 'Is your mum there?'

Daniel makes a "hmm" noise. There's ruffling on the other end, and you guess he's carrying the phone with him, then you hear, '_Mummy_!' You go tense again. You don't move, and you're not sure why you want to speak to her. Maybe she should know Daniel just rang you. Yes, that's why you want to talk. That's why. Several seconds pass, then you hear her voice. You can't decipher their muffled conversation, but you register shock in Piper's tone, and she takes the phone. Speaks.

'_Alex?_'

'Hi.' You straighten. 'Daniel got my number from a colleague at the diner.'

'_I knew he was hiding something from me–– Yes, what, Daniel?_' His voice is muffled still, and Piper responds quickly, '_No, you can't have any Coco Pops. What did I say about keeping secrets from me? D–– No, you're having my cereal. The fruit and nut stuff... I don't care if you don't like it, Daniel, we don't keep secrets from each other, remember? No sulking either_.'

And it's domestic, family rubbish. It's normal and Piper sounds–– she sounds like a mother, and you think about your mother, and you think about how upset she used to be when you lied to her, kept secrets from her and–– Tears sting your eyes, and you pinch the bridge of your nose. Piper returns to the phone and says your name, but you can't talk, you're struggling and you don't understand why you're unsteady. You idiot. You're a fucking idiot, claiming to not want any of this.

You said you didn't want the nest once. You said you don't want kids, you hate kids, and you think women who settle down are boring, pathetic –– _not my type at all_. Now you understand why they chose that route. Because kids are a hassle, and Daniel is a pain in the ass, but you don't want to die alone. You don't want to be alone. You don't, you don't want to be abandoned again.

Love. That's all you've ever needed.

'... _Alex?_'

'My shift starts soon.' Your voice cracks, and your agony is no longer hidden. Piper says your name again, but you cut through her, 'Have a nice day, Pipes.' You hang up, and a chorus of taunts run through your mind: _she's not yours, she's not yours, she's not yours, she's not yours. He's not yours. They're not yours_. You had them, you lost them. You _had_ them, _and you __**chose**__ to lose them_. You are a wreck. One disaster after the next.

Wiping your face with the back of your hand, you slip on your jacket, grab your bag and leave the apartment. Half way during your journey, you accidentally think about them again. You try and pinpoint the problem. And you _stupidly_ think about Daniel when he was a baby, sleeping in your arms. The drugs, and how Piper was there, _constantly_, when you quit the heroin. She never left your side. How she begged for you to stay alive, how she never left even when you yelled at her, frightened her, _demanded she give you your drugs_.

Afterwards, it was perfect. It was the nest. Daniel was well, a happy baby, only content to be in _your_ arms. Just _your_ arms. You were special. And you had the only woman who mattered to you. The only two people in the world who mattered were yours. Until–– _when you leave... don't say good bye..._ You did the inevitable. You ran away. You did what Alex Vause would do, and ruined what was beautiful.

Now it's all shattered. The dream, the nest, the image –– _shattered_.

You drive off the main road onto the side, stop the car, and it only takes half a second for you to start crying. Tears stain your glasses and you roughly shove them off. Cars drive past, and it's a cold morning, loveless and cruel. You shudder, let a few more tears fall. Remember every perfect memory, remember how _complete_ you felt, how _proud_ you were. All gone, _it's all gone_. You tease yourself, mock yourself, and imagine coming home to the little boy, _your little boy_, and he's overjoyed to see you every time you step through the door.

You imagine coming home to her. And she's yours, and it's how it should be.

You imagine Utopia.

The dream.

"_I love you, Alex."  
><em>"_... I love you, too."_

You clean yourself up, reapply some eyeliner, and you realise how much older you are. The mirror is an accurate representation of yourself but, bizarrely, you're starting to look a lot like your mother. You feel a little pride in that, smile for a second, return the eyeliner, start the car. _"You're cool."_ Yes. Those stupid, rich girls are going to _wish_ they were you. You are cool.

Turning the wheel, you drive back onto the main road, switch on the radio. Turn up the volume. And you're in control again. You're in charge of your destination, your future, and it's fine. It's all going to be okay. You have every reason to smile –– _you are a free woman_.

Opening up the diner, you attend to your first customer, and then Kyle –– your manager –– steps in, says hello, asks how you are, and the conversation ends. You appreciate the fact he gives you space. He seems to understand. You're still adapting. Still the ex-con. You're just trying to live. It's midday, and the door opens, and it's a dusky-skinned man, dressed in a suit, and you do a double-take.

You've seen him before.

He sits on a seat at the far end. Just when Emily enters the diner, almost skipping and she beams at you, but you don't smile back. You've seen that man before. Kyle steps past, passes you an order sheet. But you're too busy studying this man. Where have you seen him? Where? God, his appearance is so familiar––

You widen your eyes in horror. Step back, nearly crash into the coffee machine. Emily turns to look at you. 'What's got into you?' She laughs, but the humour disappears and she realises you're not joking. The dusky man glances at you, leans over to grab a newspaper on a table beside him. 'Alex, are you all right?'

'Fine.' You brush past her, ignore the order sheet Kyle gave you. Your heart is in your mouth, and you approach the customer, the man dressed in a suit, and he slowly lowers the paper as you approach. You recognise him. He works for Kubra. You stop at the table, and he raises his brows. 'Can I get you a coffee?'

'Please. You can also get me the four-thousand dollars you owe.'

You seethe. Sit down opposite, lower your voice, 'That deal was made seven fucking years ago. I don't have that money.'

'That's cute, Vause, but I don't believe you.'

'I have _none _of that money. I––' _I gave it to my child. Every cent. All for him. It's his money_. 'I'm not getting involved in this bullshit again. Now unless you want something to eat or drink, you can fuck right off.'

'I know where you live. _We_ do. Sweet apartment, Vause. Must get lonely.'

You're trembling, and you hope he doesn't notice. You can't let your guard down. 'That deal was made seven years ago. He told me to look after the money, but he never asked for it back, so I––'

'You assumed it was yours for the taking?'

'No. I assumed he was already sitting on so much fucking dosh, he didn't need anymore. That asshole is dirty rich. If he wants a few bucks, then he can cry me a fucking river and drown in it. I'm sure he'll manage.'

'You turned yourself in, Vause. Put our business at risk there. You put real strain on us.'

'Says how much of a difference I made, then.'

'Stroke your ego all you want –– I'm after you, and that _brat_ you hang around with.' You're on your feet, and you nearly punch him, gut him, strangle him to death. You know which _brat_ he is referring to, and the fear vanishes. Now, you endure anger. Rage. An ugly loathing. He's frozen, mildly surprised at your response, then he starts to smile. You glare. You want him to speak, you want him to taunt you so you have an excuse to break his jaw. But he continues to smile, 'I'd like a coffee please. Two sugars. No milk.'

'If you touch him, I will kill you.'

'... Huh. I believe you, but I'd love to see you try.'

'Is there a problem here?' You hear Kyle's voice from behind, and your heart skips a beat. He narrows his brows at you, and you shake your head, brush past, prepare the coffee. Emily tries to catch your attention as you walk towards the bar, but you're uninterested.

You're shaking. The mug slips from your fingers.

'Alex, what the hell are you playing at?' Kyle is at your side again, and he snatches the mug. 'What's going on? You know what, forget it. Go into the staffroom and take a breather. You're acting ridiculously––'

'I'm_ fine_,' you take the mug. Kyle stares at you, and you swear under your breath. He is your boss. He is in charge of you. You are not in charge of yourself. You take orders from somebody else now. Kyle inhales, and you continue preparing the coffee.

'You're a real enigma. You know that?' He walks past, attends to another customer. Your eyes follow him, and you kind of hate him for saying such. You're not an enigma. You're just fucked up. And that man sitting at the table is going to murder you if you don't pay up. Fuck. You completely forgot. You forgot about that one incident when Kubra wanted you to watch over some money. But he never asked for it back, and maybe you should have known better, _but you didn't and you gave Daniel the money and and––_

_Fuck, fuck––_

Don't. _Don't touch him. Don't touch my baby._ You slam the switch to the coffee machine. _Not Daniel_. This is exactly what you've been trying to avoid. You're furious; enraged. You want Kubra to show himself, appear at the door, and when he does, you will _fucking rip him limb from limb_. You have _never __**ever **_endured so much _rage_ for that bastard, _never in your life_.

He has made this personal.

Too personal.

You pass the coffee over to the man. He smiles at you. You don't smile back. He knows what you're thinking, and for the next hour, you watch him closely, and Emily notices, and she's frowning at you and the man, and she looks concerned, confused, but you don't care. Why does danger follow you everywhere? You turned yourself in to get away from these monsters.

He finishes his coffee. Leaves you a tip. You don't accept.

There is no rest. As soon as he walks through the door, you watch as another man steps inside. Shirt, tie. Short, black hair, glasses in his hand. He folds the frames, shoves them into his pocket, and your heart stops. He recognises you and cracks a smile. 'I was hoping you'd be in.' It's the first time you're able to look at him properly. Steven is thin, a friendly face, strong shoulders as he presses his palms against the bar. 'Wanted to check this place out. Dan is really fond of this diner, and I can see why.'

You want to hate him.  
>You want to hate him.<p>

_You want to hate him_.

But he smiles at you again, and he smiles at Daniel that way. He's just happy. He's just happy with life, and it's the sort of personality anyone wants around them. 'How about an orange juice?' He snorts, and he hopes you get the joke, and you force a little smile. He clears his throat, drums his fingers against the bar as you make his cold drink. When you pass it over, he passes you a twenty dollar note. 'The eighteen dollars is for you to keep. It's not much, but I really appreciate what you did for Dan. It's Alex, right?'

'Right.'

He points at your name tag. 'I guess that gives it away.'

'Oh, yeah.'

'He's spoken about you. He talks about you a lot, and after the asthma attack, you were his heroine.'

_Heroine. Ha. Very funny_.

(_... yeah, he was my heroin too..._)

'I––' He shrugs. 'Listen, Alex, I know about what happened between you and Piper. Sort of. I mean, she's pretty hushed up about you, which I get, but––' He bites on his lower lip. Nervous habit. You push your glasses higher up your nose. Expect the worst. '––I understand, is all I mean to say. I don't want you seeing me as some sort of threat. Daniel and you have a very special bond. I mean, me and him aren't even that close. And you make him happy, so, well, don't let me stop anything.'

This is a lot to take in. You cock a brow. 'You seem to make him pretty happy, too.'

'I've known Dan since he was two.' You don't hate him, but you hate his words. You realise how much you've missed. You missed Daniel at aged one, two, three, four, five–– You've missed _six years of his life_. 'We're pretty great pals. He and Piper are the best things that have ever happened to me.'

'People.'

'I'm sorry?'

You feel a _sting_. 'Piper and Daniel are people, not things.'

Obviously he didn't mean it that way. He's taken aback, awkward. 'Oh. Right. Yeah, of course.' Averts his gaze. You glance at the band on his finger. Look towards the coffee machine. 'We're getting married in three months. If you want to come––'

'No. I shouldn't even–– None of this should be happening. I left for a reason.'

He nods. 'Right.' He smiles. He's not looking at you anymore. He's lost in his thoughts. Your expression softens. You know who he's thinking about. You both think about her, all the time. You both love her. Except, you know it doesn't hurt Steven. He loves her and there's no pain, no past, no fuckery. He loves Piper because she's wonderful and she's an amazing mother, who survived on her own.

You love Piper because she is.  
>Because she is, simply, the love of your life.<p>

He sips his drink. 'Dan was correct; you do make tasty juice.' He looks at you, his smile falls when he registers your expression.

_You are torn apart_.

Steven fiddles with the glass. 'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have–– It was stupid of me to come.'

'I get it.' He looks at you. You shrug. 'She's beautiful, she's read everything, she's smart and she's funny.' Another shrug. 'It's hard not to fall in love with her.' And each time you fall, you never get back up again. You're crushed. 'Just make her happy, yeah?' Give her what I couldn't. What I can't. Be better.

'I think Danny makes her happy.' He smiles, kind.

You twitch a smile back. 'Right.'

'But, I'll try. I will. You got my word on that.'

'Are you excited?' _Are you excited to take what's mine? Are you excited to take the only person who matters? The only __**people**__ who matter? Are you excited to steal my home?_

A nod. No hesitance. Just certainty. 'So excited.'

You're undone.  
>You're down.<p>

He is victorious over you, and he has no idea.

He's better. He's better.  
><em>He's better<em>.

'I should get back to work and leave you alone. I'll see you around, Alex.'

He smiles. Walks out, and doesn't come back. Tonight, he won't be alone, like yourself. He'll have somebody to hold him, and he'll wake up to what –– _who_ –– makes him happiest. To her, and to him. To a little boy jumping on the end of the bed, yelling at mummy and daddy to wake up, smiling and joyful, and you catch yourself by surprise. What about you? What have you got?

You are _ripped apart_ by envy, jealousy, and you're afraid you're going to cry again. You haven't felt so fucking _betrayed in your life_. By Piper, and by Daniel –– _you feel betrayed. Fucking betrayed. You can't breathe, you can't think. You want to feel loved, wanted, you want them to want you, but you can't, you can't have them. They are not yours. You left them. Oh, Alex, you idiot –– you left her._

Without a good bye.

You left.

You want her.  
>Need her.<p>

Emily is about to go on break. She's bored, doodling on an order sheet. You step over, and she looks up at you, expectant, and frowns when you grab her hand, lead her into the staff room. She asks if you're all right, where you're taking her, and the staff room is empty. You lock the door, and she catches on quickly, and when you kiss her, you kiss Piper, and when she moans against your mouth, willingly sheds away for you, you imagine it's Piper, you imagine it's her you have pressed to the wall.

It's a swift ordeal. She tastes sweet, and she struggles to stay quiet, and she thinks you want _her_, she thinks you want _her_, she thinks this is for _her_, she thinks this is genuine and real, and you like _her_. She's just another girl caught in the ropes. You drag your tongue against her warmth and she gasps, clenches her fists, and nothing is within your grasp.

She reaches her climax, smiles into the kiss, but it's finished. It's over, and she's startled. She's not happy anymore. She asks what's wrong, pulls at your sleeve. You pass Emily her panties, and she takes them hesitantly, eyes wide, and you look at her and you're disappointed. She doesn't require an explanation. Emily knows something is wrong, and she knows she should be hurt, but she isn't sure why. She dresses, fixes her hair in a mirror, buttons up her diner uniform, glances at you.

Maybe she realises, at one point.  
>Realises she's not on your mind.<p>

Emily closes the door behind her when she leaves you. Admittedly, you feel a little better, but it doesn't last long. It's the drugs all over again. A temporary release, race for fresh air. Gone in an instant. Faster than it came. Back pressed to the wall, you take off your glasses. Piper is always there, out of reach, and it's always the same. It always ends the same. This time, she'll never be yours.

It's all disappeared. That silly hope you had.

(_and I'd die to make you mine)_

**.**

**.**

**.**


	7. Chapter 7

**.**

**.**

**.**

Daniel  
><span>**7.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Hard liquor. Your lips tingle, your mouth is dry, and the stars are blurry spots in the air. Dark clouds roam the skies, and the moon hides behind, shy. The rooftop is deserted apart from you and Nicky, and you can't quite remember how you both got up here. In your flat, there's a doorway leading to the roof, but it's blocked off. Maybe Nicky managed to find a way through. You can't remember and, frankly, you don't care either. No point in caring anymore.

Nicky inhales on her roll-up, and the smell forces you to grab the packet and make one yourself. It's been too long since you tasted nicotine, or any drug for that matter. The alcohol doesn't cut it. You want something a little more. You want more. Nicky passes you her lighter, and soon, you're another victim, seduced by the drug. Sighing, you flick the lighter back, have another puff –– _long inhale_. Nicky cocks a brow, 'All right, man. What's eating you?'

'No one, unfortunately.'

Grinning crookedly, Nicky straightens, 'You need to come out. Check out the bars, and I don't mean the bars that just sell alcohol.'

'Find somebody else.'

'Fuck, Vause. What _has_ got into you? Whole time we were at that fucking prison, I could tell you were hiding something big. Don't you think it's time you came clean?' Nicky has some alcohol. Scrunches her eyes closed. '_Whoa_.' She recovers quickly, nudges you. 'Lemme guess: lost love?' She snorts, 'Love of your life leave you?' Nicky shrugs. 'Or, did you leave _her_?'

Unfair. You smile a little. '_Kinda_.' You're not sure how it happened. You just left. And you pretend to not regret any of that. But you do. You regret it. If you didn't leave, she would still be yours. That fucking cartel. The fucking drugs. Everything that was happening made everything impossible. You _kinda_ left Piper. You _kinda_ left Daniel.

'Been fucking anybody else to heal your wounds?' Glancing at Nicky, you hope she's joking; no one can read you that fast. However, even if she has odd ways of showing it, Nicky is sincere. She isn't joking. 'Somebody you work with? Because if so, there's only one girl there I'd know you'd screw. She's real sweet. The one who won't get off your back, right?'

You inhale on the roll-up.

'Oh, _Vause_. You can't stop yourself, can you?' Nicky laughs.

'I wasn't thinking about her,' you chuck the roll-up away. Grab the bottle of whatever-you're-drinking, finish the rest. 'I fucked her because I was jealous, and I probably fucked myself over in the process.' Shrugging, you look at Nicky, 'I suck.'

'Eh. She'll get over it. Why you jealous? Has your girl hooked up with somebody else now? She got a kid? Kids are brats. Get in the way of everything.'

'She's getting married.'

There's silence between you both, and you slowly look at each other. A pause, and then you're both laughing together. It's hilarious. It's so _fucking funny_ that Piper is getting married, and Daniel will have a father and you will be kicked out of the picture as if you were never there. And you know what? _You weren't there_. That's what you can't stop laughing about. You were not there. You were a _moment_ in Daniel's life, a brief episode. Nothing. Just nothing.

Once you're both calm, Nicky groans and collapses onto her back. 'You know you're old when you can't drink as much as you used to. _Fuck_.'

Scrambling to your feet, you're a little dizzy, a little blind –– you're not wearing your glasses, they're somewhere on the floor. It's all blurry beyond, and you squint, the lights in the town glowing, all smudged together. Daniel is sleeping in one of those houses, maybe Piper is awake, maybe she's not alone. Maybe she doesn't think about you anymore. Maybe you're just somebody. Maybe you're just Alex to her, some girl she used to know.

You shouldn't have come back.

You tell yourself you'll skip town when you can afford it. You'll leave. Never return. Disappear.

'––Vause! Hang onto this, will ya?' A baggie is in her palm. You hesitantly take it as Nicky stands. You're familiar to the feel, the weight, the texture. The pull. You're fixed. Nicky frowns at you, then she realises. 'Want some? Just a little sniff, though. This shit costs more than my rent.'

A boost.

Yes. Yes, that sounds amazing. You can forget. The night will be easier to push through. Nicky grins.

'Well...?'

The heroin never left your side, and never will. The heroin was and still is the best girlfriend you ever had: loyal, loving and always there. She was always there to help you feel better. After everything Piper had done, the heroin was there. The heroin was yours. The heroin made you smile when your entire world was crashing around you.

It's his face. Blue eyes, crooked smirk –– that look. _Your_ look.

Don't.

_Don't give in. Don't do that._ You can hear her. _Don't do that, baby girl_. Your mum, and you think it's about time she appeared. It's about fucking time. Because you need her, and what is a girl to do without her mum? Ever since, you've been wandering. Alone. You've had no one. The drugs aren't your ally. The drugs were never your ally.

No one is your ally right now. You're fighting a battle you cannot win.

Tearing open the baggie, the heroin scatters out, blows in the silent breeze. Nicky stares in horror, but she's silent, and watches as each granule escapes. Disappears. Gone. It never existed. You let go of the empty baggie, raise the collar of your jacket, and find the door leading back inside. Nicky follows shortly, 'What the fuck was that all about?' It's late. Three in the morning. Your shift starts soon. You won't sleep tonight, neither will Nicky.

She makes a motion to leave the apartment, but turns to you at one point, and you've both never been more sober.

'If I know anything, if you love the girl, you gotta tell her. You'll regret it more if you don't.' Nicky raises her shoulders. 'I learnt that the hard way.' She steps back, looks at you again. 'Oh, and fuck you for wasting my drugs, man.' She knows. She knows why you did it, and in a strange way, she's grateful. You're grateful too; grateful you had the opportunity to win. To prove to yourself you're still human, you still have choices, you're still alive.

So you don't sleep. You dread tomorrow –– or _later_. Facing Emily will not be pleasant. You shower, dress, apply your makeup, tie your hair back. Before you know it, it's time to go, and you hope your manager won't know you've been drinking all night. As you leave the apartment, you're irritated to discover it's raining; pouring it down. Swearing under your breath, you walk briskly to the car, start the engine.

Look forwards.

There is a man standing next to your window.

You don't look at him. You press down on the clutch. And then hear the light tap; he's knocking. He proceeds over towards the passenger seat, calm, opens the door, and sits. He smells strongly of cologne. Wet from the rain. Sighs, making himself comfortable. 'Off you go, then.' Switch into first gear. Press on the accelerator lightly, and drive onto the road. The man removes his hat.

It's tricky, concentrating.

He exhales.  
>You don't breathe.<p>

'You still have that money.'

'I don't.'

'Wanna bet?'

'Yep.'

'Where did you put it?'

'Why does it matter?'

'Because that money doesn't belong to you.'

'I'm sure you'll survive without the four-thousand dollars.'

'It's not mine, and I'm not paying for it with my own money.'

'It's not mine either.'

'Daniel Chapman, isn't it?'

Your heart skips a beat. You tighten your grip on the steering wheel.

'Looks like your lady love wasn't all about you after all.'

You say nothing.

'I can deal with that sweet boy. Make it look like an accident. Poor baby fell and cracked his head open––'

'It's _just_ money.'

'You don't get it, do you?' He leans over. 'Tell me where the money is. You left, you turned yourself in, and I had to pay for that. I don't like quitters; the cowards. That brat didn't–– Oh. Oh, how sad. How _adorable_. You fell for that kid, didn't you?' He laughs. It's a toxic laugh. 'The boss is gonna love this one. Alex Vause has gone all mushy for a fucking _child_.'

'That money is not going anywhere near you.'

He glares. Hating you. Then, he grabs the wheel. Your heart nearly bursts in fright. He manages to slam down on the brake, drive off the side. The car nearly topples, and the seatbelt stops you from hitting yourself unconscious. 'That _money_––' He comes so close you can smell his breath, '––is not _yours_. We're gonna find it, one way or another. The four-thousand dollars, _and_ fifty-million.'

'That fifty-million _is_ mine.'

'No. You quit. So, it's ours. You're gonna have to pay up. Everything you own is ours now.'

You smile crookedly. 'You're going to have to try harder than that.'

'Not scared with words, are you? I'm giving you a warning. Don't pay up, then it won't just be you who'll walk around with shattered bones.'

'Don't you dare touch him––'

'I don't intend to touch that baby boy. Not yet.' You look away. Gripping the wheel. He squints, 'Baby Daniel. Aw. He kinda looks like you, which I find curious because he's not even yours.' Something _snaps_. Your fist hits him square in the face, and his nose breaks. Blood pools from his nostrils, and he's stunned. You can't believe what you've done; you are _not a violent person_. You wouldn't have done that before, before the prison, before the women you were locked in cages with. That prison has transformed you into a creature you don't recognise.

How do you do it? Make things worse than they already are.

The master of fucking things up.

Idiot.

He glares at you, 'Fuck you, Vause.' You've sealed it all. You have been uncooperative. You have made this _personal_, and you will be seeing him again soon. He exits the car. A splatter of blood remains on the seat. You wait until he's down the road, gone, before continuing your journey to the diner.

You must recover.

Brace yourself.

The cartel is only one of your problems.

And so, to work. It's crazy. You've just been threatened, _your family has been threatened_, but you tell yourself –– _back to work_. Work. Pretend nothing happened. Pretend Emily isn't watching you at every chance she gets, pretend you haven't caused friction with a colleague. Pretend everything is normal, and you're uncaring, how you used to be. Uncaring.

Living. Just living.

Your hands tremble slightly. _Baby Daniel_. Don't.

Don't. Don't think.

Emily disappears at one point. You feel a little guilty, but you pretend. The diner is fairly busy, and Kyle approaches you and mentions it's one of the customer's birthday. You roll your eyes. He gives you a look. Whenever it's somebody's birthday, he likes to give them a small cake, play the "Happy Birthday" song on the CD player. Rubbish.

Just as you press the "play" button, a small boy climbs onto one of the stools, and demands an orange juice. Daniel widens his eyes when he hears the song, slams his palms onto the bar, overly excited. When Piper appears, your heart _stops_. You swallow, pretend. She holds her son as he balances on the stool, 'Dan, you're meant to say "please".'

'But Alec is nice and gives me oranges juices anyway.'

'Doesn't mean you don't say "please".'

'It's okay, Pipes,' you say, passing Daniel his drink. 'I'm used to it.'

'Yeah, me too. You get tired of it after a while.'

'I tolerated it.' You smile.

Piper frowns. 'I don't know what you're trying to imply, but I had manners–– Daniel, you're spilling it everywhere. Aim for your mouth.' She turns her attention back to you. 'He's had a pretty rough day at school.' She brushes a hand through his hair. 'A horrible boy hit him.' You see the bruise on his left cheek. 'But, Dan's tough. He's okay.'

'Hey, Daniel, next time he does that –– give him one back.'

'Alex, I'm not encouraging him to be violent.'

'He doesn't have to put up with that bull.'

Daniel looks up from his glass of orange juice, and glances at you and Piper. She sighs, 'We don't like violence. Do we?' It's partly an act. Piper just wants her son to learn better. Daniel nods. 'There. See?' Piper pulls a smile. 'So, suck it.'

'Yeah, suck it, Alec.'

Frowning at Daniel, you have to smile too. Piper laughs at his response and Daniel seems pretty proud of himself. It's nice to watch the two interact. They're a firm team. You catch Piper watching you; she glances away. You avert your gaze. Daniel happily continues drinking his orange juice. There's a table which needs clearing. You go round the bar, grab a tray, clear it, return and Daniel is bobbing up and down in his seat when he hears a song he recognises.

It's not exactly a song a child his age should understand. In fact, you're certain he doesn't. Placing the tray to the side, you look at Piper, 'Oh, my gosh. Do you remember this?' The _My Milkshake_ song is heard through the diner and you have to laugh. You haven't heard it in ages. In fact, the last time you did was when you were last with Piper, both so drunk you could barely stand.

She's grinning, '_Yes_.'

The dance, you try to remember it. But the memory is vague, and that bugs you. 'I––' Daniel is watching you now, and seems to catch on, 'I don't even know how the arms go.' Piper instantly demonstrates, one hand at the back of her head, down, 'Oh, right––' It's effortless. You just follow her lead, and it's sweet how she remembers the moves.

'And then this.' Brushing of the shoulders. It all comes hurrying back to you. Piper watches, grins again when you catch her eye, and you both continue together. Immediately you forget the events of this morning, and you love the fact she can't stop smiling, that she's nearing you with every step, unaware you _may_ have caught the attention of a few entertained customers.

Daniel is chuffed with the show he currently has, although he's a little bashful. He knows something you don't. He sips on his orange juice, feet kicking the air. Piper's close now, you can feel her breath on your lips, her chest against yours, and she turns, holding your gaze for as long as possible, and it's surprisingly intimate. It's weird and lovely to have her this close, and you know she feels the same; you've both missed this, and it's good, it's nice, _it's good_.

From the corner of your eye, you see Emily pull at Kyle's sleeve. He's amused and you realise something's wrong when his smile falls as Emily speaks to him. Your hands press onto Piper's sides and she faces you, eyebrows raised. 'What?'

You know you're in trouble.

Heat rises in your cheeks. The song ends, another starts.

'Alex!'

Daniel jumps in surprise, and nearly topples off his stool. Piper is puzzled as Kyle approaches, Emily a few steps behind, looking livid. You glance between the two. She–– No, she can't have possibly said anything to him about yesterday. The customers have returned to their food; you're no longer interesting, being cheered on. You just work at a diner.

You _are_ in trouble.

'We were just––'

'Shut your mouth, Alex,' his teeth are gritted. He's glaring at you so hotly you're surprised _lasers_ don't shoot from his eyes. He lowers his voice, 'Do you think it's appropriate to sexually harass not only a colleague, but a customer as well?'

'H–– Harass?' Fuck. Oh, _fuck_. 'What are you talking about?'

'I said shut your mouth.'

'You asked me a question!'

Now, you're scared. Now, you feel alone. Now, you feel _terrified_. Because this diner is all you've got, and you're a good waitress. You do what you're told, and you may have used Emily yesterday for your own benefit, but she _consented_. You look at her, but her arms are folded, she's avoiding you. Her eyes fall on Daniel. You can't see him or Piper.

Kyle struggles. He knows your history, he knows you aren't to be trusted.  
>In the end, he doesn't have a choice.<p>

'I'm calling the police. Having them sent here. I don't know what to do with you––'

'What _did_ I do?' No. No, not the police. No, no, no.

Piper steps in, and she shouldn't. You both know she shouldn't, but she still does, 'She didn't do anything––'

'Don't make this more complicated than it already is.' Heart in your mouth, you let him take you by the arm, _shove_ you aside. He's whispering, 'This has got out of hand. I employed you because I believed you would turn over a new leaf. Most ex-cons do. But you're like the rest of them, aren't you? Think you're better than us? Got something to prove?' The corner of your lips twitch. This can't possibly be happening. You can't seem them well, but you notice Daniel tugging on Piper's coat; he wants to leave, he's scared.

'I _don't_ harass people. I wouldn't touch anybody. For the record, though, if you're nearing forty and have been working at a fucking diner your whole life, you must have taken a wrong turn along the way.'

Perfect.  
>Brilliant.<p>

_Fucking perfect, Alex_.

'You know what, I'm tired of your _shit_. It's about time you learned your place. I thought you were funny at first, I thought you were just _you_, but I was wrong. I was wrong about you.' He pulls off the name tag attached to your uniform. 'You're fired.'

Bizarrely, you laugh. But he doesn't. He's serious.

You're fired.  
>You fucked up.<p>

_You fucked up. Again._ 'I–– Come on, I need this job.'

'Do you?'

'_Yes_. I've done everything you've asked me––'

'Don't start. Hey, it's just a diner. I'm sure you'll find better work elsewhere.'

'I wasn't being serious. I need this job. If I–– If I get fired–– Where am I going to get a job?' This is all you have. This is all you have. _This is all you have_. No one wants to hire an ex-con, who's been recently _fired_. Fuck. 'Don't–– Don't do this to me––'

'Get out. Just get out.'

'You don't get to fire me because some––' Emily swivels around on her heel, and stops eavesdropping. She returns to work. She hasn't said a single word to you since yesterday, but you know this is all her. You used her. _You used her_. As far as she's concerned, you harassed her for your own gain. Fuck. You idiot. Another colleague, one you rarely speak to, takes you by the arm, ushers you out. You yank yourself out of his grip. 'I know where the door is.'

'And I'll have the keys to the diner.'

Kyle outstretches his arm, opens his palm. You scowl, stuff your hand into your pocket and _throw_ the keys in his direction, 'Here, take them.' He doesn't move. He knows better than to move, antagonise you. You're out of control, a mess. And it feels as if two hands are pushing you out of the door. You feel as if you've been victim to a hundred fist, millions of kicks.

You failed.

Again.

You _are_ a failure.

You think Piper has left, she's gone, but you hear her voice as you escape the diner. She calls out your name –– 'Alex!' –– and you picture Daniel's face when you were taken to the side, you picture his disappointment, you picture Piper's guilt at getting you into trouble and, somehow, you've allowed the only two people you love to destroy the very little you once had.

This time, you don't go back to her.

Piper stops. She stops walking, stops calling.

Shoulders heavy, you unlock your car, start the engine and drive away from the diner. You have no intention of returning, of going anywhere near it. And as you pass, you catch a glimpse of Piper, and her expression _screams_ with defeat, of so many apologies. It's final, it's done, it's finished. Looking away, you drive off before Daniel has the opportunity to see you.

**.**

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**.**

**author's note**: I know, I'm an assface, but just you wait. So much more is going to happen. Heck, it's just started to be honest! I'm not sure how long this story will be, but it'll definitely be longer than _Alex_. Anyway, please do leave a review, and thank you so much to everyone who has shared their thoughts. Until next time!


	8. Chapter 8

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**.**

**.**

Daniel  
><span>**8.**

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**.**

... It isn't funny anymore. You want it to stop. This is not funny anymore. It is no joke anymore. You want this to stop... (because, maybe, she'll appear behind you, hold you close and remind you you're her favourite. It's a funny joke, baby, and I'm sorry –– I admit, I took it too far this time). Nearly eight years. Nearly eight years, and you keep telling yourself over and over and over and over and over again that this is a joke.

Both of you will laugh about it later. Over vodka, on the settee, and she'll tease you constantly about her prank until you get pissed off at her. Then, _then_, it won't be funny anymore. (Mummy's gone, Mummy isn't coming back. Your wishes cannot raise the dead, Alex.) You're passed the stage of anger. Passed the stage of denial. Passed the stage of grief. Passed the stage of _acceptance_. Well, really, you never reached that stage properly.

You've never accepted her death. (She'll be disappointed in you. She wants you to move on, but you won't. Nothing can heal the pain. _What am I supposed to do without you? Why would you leave me like that? So suddenly? Why would you do that to me––?_) It isn't funny anymore. You want her to stop this. You want her back, and you want her to slap sense into you. To tell you to grow up. Learn from your dumb, fucking mistakes and keep going.

(That text is still stored on your phone. No context, no meaning, but so significant. You were nineteen, curious and cautious: _**You're**__ my best friend._ If she were alive, would she still remember her text? Does she know you still hang onto it? Hang onto her? That you still cling onto the only person who stuck by you, until the aneurism tore you both in two.) You weren't prepared, neither was she, and you _still_ aren't prepared, still haven't braced yourself.

A roll-up is dangles between your lips, a can of Strongbow in your right hand. It's dark, you can barely make out the gravestone. You feel ashamed, visiting her after eight years, barely sober. Smoking 'till you're silly. Kneeling down, you place the can aside, pull out weeds around the stone, run your hand over her name. Then, lightly across the engraved "a loving mother, best friend", and you're drunk, and you nearly cry. Stupid. Stupid, cheesy words that you picked yourself because no one else would, no one else cared. A funeral for one.

The scarf –– you carried it around all day. For some reason, you had to hold something, something of hers; and you were like a little girl, carrying her blanket around. Her comfort, her home, suddenly vulnerable and easy to break. (You sent her a text afterwards. After the funeral, you sat in your car, clinging to her scarf, and you sent a final text: _You're right. Funerals are really fucking depressing._ _I'll see you at home._) The rooms cold, dark, unused, unwelcome. You never went home that night. Heroin captured your heart, swallowed you whole.

You finish the can of cider, the roll-up. And then you say sorry. And then you say I miss you. And then you say I really need you. And then you find your feet, wait a moment, walk away. You go to your apartment, and fall against the door, struggle out of your shoes. Press your hand onto the wall, try to balance yourself, and you're so drunk. You exhale. Squint. You aren't a happy drunk tonight. You are silly and ridiculous. You haven't learnt. You're unemployed, an ex-con, with no family or friends. What have you to live for?

It's somewhere. Hiding. The scarf. You trip over a box, swear, find your bedroom, open the closet. Stuff your hand behind your t-shirts, and you panic –– you can't find the scarf. Where did you put it? You shove the t-shirts out, then trousers, then your jackets until your closet is bare. Shuffle through your small amount of clothes, reach the nightstand. Pull out the drawer, tip it upside down, and all sorts of tiny objects fall out.

No scarf. Did you lose it? You can't remember. You hum a little, press your hand against the mattress, walk forward, hit your side against the bed frame, swear at it. The scarf, like Mama, disappearing when you need it to most. You think you're about to throw up. And–– (_Mm, yes, so white, pure, soft, and beautiful, luring you in. The heroin is all yours, and you take it all, you're greedy and vicious and hungry; you let it take you places, to pretty colours, dancing lights, to the illusion of joy, and, yes, oh, yes, you know it is better than her. Better than her, better than her lips on yours, better than her body pressed to yours, better than her warmth, her sweet taste, her horrible, horrible lies of love and promise_––)

... Death doesn't sound so bad right now...

Will it make a difference? To disappear...?

Your hands are on your mobile, you search your call history. Back to when Daniel rang you; said good morning. Made you relevant. It's four in the morning, you're drunk, and you dial Piper's number, and she picks up on the fifth ring. Voice groggy, sleepy, she isn't happy to be woken up, but she assumes it's urgent because no one would ring her at this time at night unless it is urgent. And it is urgent, and her voice is a blissful tune to your sore ears.

So far away, but so close. '_Who's there?_' She's getting impatient, annoyed, she thinks this is a prank, and you wish it was, you wish this was a prank, but it's not, and her voice makes you collapse. You slide down the wall, hold the phone, and Piper hesitates, you can hear her breathing, and you imagine _him_ lying beside her, nudging her, telling her to hang up, it's just an idiot on the other end. It's just a nobody. You imagine him being perfect, the best, and you–– you are nothing. '_Hello? I'm going to put down the phone. Is anybody there?_'

That's when you see the scarf. Wrapped around your neck.

Smells of your Mum. Just like her. You press the soft fabric to your face, hang on tight, and Piper hasn't hung up yet. You shouldn't have rang, but you have, and you wouldn't have it any other way. She breathes; she inhales, exhales, gently, and you remember listening to her soft breaths whenever she slept. You remember having her, sleeping beside you, and your hands shake, and your heart _rips_, and you have never loved Piper more than now.

'_Alex?_'

You've lost the ability to speak.

And you can't bear being apart from her any longer. The scarf is pressed against your lips, you close your eyes. You're alone, you've lost your job, your family, and your Mummy and there's no way out of this hell. You wish Daniel hadn't found you –– if he hadn't found you, everything would be fine and normal and not complicated. You didn't say good bye to Piper because saying good bye is final and scary and you both can't say good bye.

She called you inevitable.  
>–– <em>so inevitable<em>.

You are her always.

Piper stays. She knows. (You are drowning.)

'I love you.'

They slip, and they're effortless, and they're whispered, and they're everything. Maybe she's already aware, maybe she knew from the start. Maybe not. You're drunk, you're silly and hopeless. High on grief, body bruised, weak.

(Lost in pitch black, darkness, eating you away slowly.)

'_I love you, too._'

Quiet. Soft, she confesses back, and you shudder, cling to the scarf.

'_I always have._'

More than fives minutes of silence passes, and neither of you hang up, terrified. Piper breathes, she lives, and her heart beats with every second, and it's what keeps you awake, keeps you alive too; it's all you have, and you picture her smile, her baby boy, and you picture what could have been. They came in waves, the pain, the loss, but now––

–– now, it is _constant_.

Piper doesn't leave. She's done with leaving. She doesn't leave anymore.

You sigh. Hang up. Drop the phone. Clatters to the floor, and you rest your head back against the wall, the scarf tight in your possession (hanging on). Always –– _I have always loved you. You, her always, her inevitable, hers._ You're plagued with the danger of your past, and you dream of something better, a brighter image, and it's her and him and, somehow, you as well. You escape reality, the dream is your drug, and you fall into the release of tranquility.

**.**

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**author's note**: Short chapter, but writing short chapters works best for me. Plus, although this may have been short, it was crucial. Drunk!Alex is a fucking mess. Actually, she's a mess _anyway_. Writing this deeply into her head is exciting but I have no idea what she's doing. Thank you to the two **[ Guest ]** reviewers, **ohmcsexy**, **Maritexxam**, **FFChik**, ** .921**, **ejm137**, **giggi91**, **[ helen ]**, **imaginarydrifter**, **vanillaltte**, **Vauseismylife**, **bluepaintbox**, **chocgirl**, **elliellie1**, **djyxa**, **[ Leelan ]**, **[ TVGplayer ]** and **Bullfrog21** for reviewing! See you all very soon.


	9. Chapter 9

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Daniel  
><span>**9.**

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**.**

You awake to the sound of the doorbell. The scarf loosely round your neck, mobile fallen from your grasp, forgotten on the floorboard. You aren't expecting visitors –– you never expect visitors. You are alone, and nobody wants you anymore. It's a fact you've embraced for years, so you're scared when you hear the doorbell, because the doorbell means danger. You remember the threats of Kubra's men, and you remember the look on his face when you wounded him –– you're terrified.

A headache. Sore throat. Hangover. You struggle to your feet, press your palm against the wall. The doorbell echoes through the tiny apartment again. It's still dark. It's still early morning; dawn. Cold. Shuddering, you eye the door, expect the latch to turn; expect the worse. You stop breathing. You don't move. The doorbell again, twice, persistent. Then a knock. And then–– 'Alex?' It's Piper's voice. Your heart skips a beat, you move suddenly, hurry for the door, unlock it.

Daniel is asleep in her arms, head resting on her shoulder. She's dressed in jeans, t-shirt, hoody –– not prepared for work. It's a Saturday. She's not working today, and she has a baby sleeping in her embrace, safe and content, and oblivious to the nightmares slowly drowning him to death. And she's concerned, she's worried, and you realise, a little too late, she still cares about you. She came here because you were drunk on the phone, you told her you loved her, and then hung up.

Motherhood has transformed her into somebody better. There's no point running away from the truth. Not anymore. You feel something, she feels something –– what does that mean? Your heart begins to beat again. You're sober, you have a hangover, and you don't know what to do. 'How did you find me?' You don't recall informing her where you're residing. Or did you? Did you let slip your address in your drunken stupor? Your gazes fix. Her eyes are large, blue and steal you away all over again.

'My son isn't the only one who can sweet talk the staff at the diner.'

'What?'

'I asked your boss where you lived.'

'He's not my boss.'

'_When_ he was your boss, then. I never said I asked for it because I didn't know how you'd react.'

'Why did you need to know?'

'Because I'm scared.'

You exhale. Your hand slips from the wall.

'I'm scared _for_ you.'

It's wrong –– allowing her to stand in the doorway, holding her child. You step aside, 'My bedroom's off to the left. Daniel can sleep in there.' Neither of you have to speak Piper's intentions; she needs to talk. You _both_ need to talk about the phone call, about the fiancé, about the prison. About what comes next. She hesitates. Then, steps forwards, and when she passes, you smell her perfume, and she sees your scarf, and it's too much to bear. A ton on your heart.

The door closes. Piper disappears into your bedroom. You pause. She's in your house. She and him are in your house, and you feel a rush of possessiveness. _They are in your home_. The floorboard creaks as you proceed into the living room –– the tiny area where you have a sofa, blanket, radio and several books. Your hideout. Your rock. The place you come to find shelter, disappear. Like the coward you are. Piper reappears, and she hesitates again, so you decide to not watch her. Maybe you're making her feel awkward.

You decide to prepare coffee. You don't ask if she wants any. It doesn't feel appropriate to ask if she wants coffee. In a horrible way, she's like a stranger. Somebody you once knew. (A stranger you know very well.) Back turned to her, you feel her gaze, her presence, everything about her, and your tense and you need to ask why she's here, why she's come here. _She can't be here_. You aren't right for either of them.

Footsteps. Light. The kettle is boiled, and you've done nothing –– you listen to her. She walks over to you, stops at arm's length, and you can hear her breathing. Maybe she wants to ask you questions too. Maybe she has a lot to say as well. Or, maybe she has nothing to say. Maybe she didn't come here to talk. Maybe she didn't bring herself and Daniel all of this way to simply talk.

The conversation plays again in your sick mind. It wasn't even a conversation. Just words. Just honesty. _"I love you."_ You eventually let your guard down. Opened the floodgates, and the water _bashes_ against you, and there's no surface to cling onto this time. There's no way out. You both know she should leave, she shouldn't be here. But it's not about what _ought_ to be done. All morality is lost.

It's what you both _need_.

'Your room was a mess. I cleaned it up a bit. Were you looking for something?'

Turning around, you see her, see her soft skin, pink lips, the golden chain dangling from her neck. 'When I called you it was a mistake.' _I shouldn't have done it, not because it's a lie. Not because it possesses no truth. But because that phone call was everything, it ruined and determined everything. I broke my promise. _'I was drunk.'

She knows. Of course she knows, and you're an idiot for thinking she doesn't. Piper's eyes lower to the scarf, and she inhales deeply. Guilt passes her expression. She looks away. 'Have you––' She swallows. 'Have you been...' It takes a moment for you to realise what she's trying to say. '... Have you been using?'

You're upset she doubts you. Your shoulders slump, and you're tired –– you could be using if you wanted. You've been tempted. 'No.' But the delusions, dreams and taunts are over. No more "fuck you"s, no more "I hate you"s, no more child's play. You realise you aren't exhausted from lack of sleep. You're exhausted because you are older, and you ended with nothing. Nothing but disappointment.

'Oh.'

A sigh. Lines are forming around her eyes, and it's beautiful. She's no kid anymore.

Piper begins to tear apart. She shatters, and your breath catches in your throat –– 'I can't get away from you.' Tears invade her eyes, and she can't fight the pain scorching through her body. 'You're everywhere.' Her smile shines with irony, and her eyes break free with tears. One by one, and they're effortless and peaceful. It must be nice to cry. To let it out so easily.

'I don't mean to be.'

'You didn't say good bye.'

And it hits. You're assaulted.

You didn't say good bye. You didn't let her see you off, you didn't let her bid a final farewell. You left in the middle of the night, and she woke up to an empty, cold bed. Abandoned. You may as well have been dead to her, dragged along by handcuffs, donned in orange khakis. You only had one visitors during your time –– just one, and he's the only reason you and his mother are facing each other right now.

You did not say good bye.

'Does he make you happy?'

Piper exhales shakily. 'He's safe.'

'Oh.'

'And he's kind.'

He is what you aren't, bad or good.  
>He wins.<p>

(_but there was never any competition_)

'Alex.'

'Piper?'

'... Did you have to leave me?'

No. You could have stayed. You could have stayed. You could have stayed. _I could have been yours_.  
>You didn't <em>have<em> to.

But you _needed _to. 'I couldn't–– I can't take care of him.' _I'm no good for our baby._

'I–– I'm engaged.'

'I know.' _Poison_. 'That's not news.'

'You weren't supposed to come back.'

Maybe you are just inevitable.

She comes closer. She shouldn't come closer. But you don't push her away; you remain put, completely still. You stand your ground. Wait for the worst. For her to turn around, and disappear. _You won't live if she does that again. You can't take another blow._ He's perfect –– the fiancé. He's perfect, and he's everything you're not, and he's everything she needs.

_Don't. Don't come back to me.  
><em>_Don't be stupid._

(Let go.)

And she sees the wounds the prison thwarted at you. The dark rooms, the bitter taunts of your inmates, the physical abuse, the war of angry yells and injustice. The demands for rights. The miserable, depressing sex between nobodies. You have become a nobody. _Ugly_.

Her breath –– warm against your lips, and her cheeks flush before anything has happened. _This is nothing but a waste of time_. This can't happen. Piper kisses you. And it's awful, so, so awful how dread swallows you whole at the most relieving moment in your life. You are weak, your knees buckle, your hands glide up her back loosely, run across the fabric of her hoody. Her tongue softly glides over your lower lip, finds yours, and her quiet moan is enough to drive a wrecked woman mad.

The night is silent. Watching. Observing. Her mouth seals over yours again, hands in your hair, and she gasps, and your breathing accelerates, your heart races for a sweet oblivion. Your limbs tremble, she breaks the kiss, traces her lips over your cheek, and you both embrace, hold each other. She kisses your jawline, your neck, reaches your ear, 'I love you.' Kisses your lips, again, again, pulls apart (_and you can't bear being apart any longer_). 'I love you.' Falls into your arms, you catch her, she's yours. 'I love you.'

Your palm presses against her stomach, the hem of her hoody. She willingly lifts her arms, lets you pull it away, and a new sense of urgency captures you both. The t-shirt drops to the floor. She jars her teeth, removes the scarf, grips your hair, your jacket, says your name, and you kiss each other, hard on the mouth. Hands dancing, touching. Piper cranes her neck back as you kiss her collarbone, her neck. Both of you consumed by insanity, hunger, and a toxic love neither of you can escape from.

It's a tragedy. You and she.

The golden chain tickles your lips, the ring cold against your chest. The straps to Piper's bra slip from her shoulders, and you cup her soft breasts, hear her sharp intake of breath, her shock, her desire for more. She struggles with you, she pulls at your strap, and it's silly and childish and strangely awkward. She gives up, continues to kiss you; you manage to remove your bra, and your breasts press together as she wraps her arms around your neck, your hands soft on her back, nails digging into her warm flesh.

It's a flurry of heat, of moans and gasps, and heavy breaths and she whispers, 'I love you––' when her back is against the rough floorboard, and you feel nothing but shame to have her beneath you again. _I never stopped loving you. I have always loved you._ Within seconds, you and her are bare and open to one another. Her lips on yours, arms around your waist, and she lets you have her. She inhales, her eyes roll back, she tenses, pauses, looks at you, your hand over her warmth, touching her where you _own_ her.

She won't forgive herself for this. _This disgusting sin_.

A light kiss, soft. Her consent. _She walks backwards again._ _And you trail along behind._ The more you touch her, the more she reacts, the more she becomes familiar, you remember, but it's nothing like before. Before it was good and you smiled with her and it was right but this, _this is so wrong._ Piper slips out a moan, struggles, clings to you, comes to her climax, quiet, and you've plagued her again. You've dragged her back into danger, dragged her back into the ruins of your life.

Piper lifts herself onto her elbows, then sits across your lap, and the necklace is so, so cold against you. She takes you –– but you were never not hers to take anyway; shows you her words, and it doesn't require much effort. Tears trickle down her cheeks, and they're hot as they pass, but you take yourself by surprise. The tears do not belong to her. They are your own. She exhales into your mouth, lips brushing yours, and you want to say something.

Something.  
>Anything.<p>

'I'm sorry.'

Piper focusses on you.

'_I'm sorry for all of it._'

Maybe she knows. Maybe she doesn't.

_And I really do love you._

What have you both done together? What have you both done? _How dare you both allow this to happen?_ You hold each other's gaze, try to find answers, try to make sense of it all. Try to figure out why Piper is so scared about your wellbeing, why she came back to you when she shouldn't have, how you've both made such a mess out of nothing. You both try to realise what this now means.

The destruction you've both committed.

After hours of lovemaking, you realise before she does that this is a mistake. You have ruined everything good in her life –– _again_. She stands, as do you. Her gaze lingers, then you both dress in silence. Quickly. You look at her, she looks at you, and she expects you to know. She expects you to know what this now means, because you always know, you always have the answers.

But you don't know. You don't know what this now means.

If anything.

_She still loves you, but she just can't do this_. You're both dressed, watching each other, your back against the counter, she standing in the centre of the floor. So far apart, but so close. Piper comes to her senses first. It's nearly eight o' clock in the morning –– she needs to wake her son, start the day (forget). It can't be discussed –– what you've both performed. It's too early to discuss such a travesty.

_You still love her, but you just can't do this._ She moves, walks towards your bedroom, opens the door to wake up her child, and you grab your glasses on the counter, wipe them with your shirt, and you feel a little nervous, and she probably feels a little nervous. But you control yourself. You can't fully fathom what happened, and neither can she, but it's not just you and her now. For Daniel, you pretend everything is okay, and everything will always be okay, and everything is as simple as he believes.

You play pretend.

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	10. Chapter 10

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Daniel  
><span>**10.**

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**.**

Over the phone, Nicky sounds exhausted; there's a croak in her voice, and it's as if she has a cold. You assume she's suffering a hangover. Ten minutes ago, she rang your mobile, and was silent for most of it. Very rarely did you both share intimate moments while in prison. You're both wrapped around this hazardous pride, and admitting your feelings is considered weak; you both don't like talking about your feelings.

Except when it's _unbearable_. You patiently wait for her to speak, pour a glass of red wine, and after six minutes, you're a little concerned. Try to distract your worry by peering out of the window. There's a van parked a few metres away. You remember seeing it last night, too. It's been parked in that same spot for nearly twenty-four hours. And you hope your mind is fooling you, but you're certain you recognise the van.

Nicky chuckles. '_This is some life, eh, Vause? You getting fired, me working in a fucking supermarket._' You can't pinpoint her problem. At least she has a job. But, having a job doesn't necessarily mean stability. Nicky is struggling to adjust. '_Gotta ask you something._' She pauses. You sip your wine. '_Don't you miss it?_'

'Miss what?'

'_You know what, Vause. The drugs. I don't mean using either. Just... the drugs. Dealing it, being a pimp._' A crooked smile reaches your lips. '_Bet you miss that power. That fucked up mind control._'

Raising a brow, you have to agree. Yeah. You miss it. Miss the rush, the fame, the competition, the money –– the illusion of a puppeteer. You miss it, because it was all you had. The drugs were all you had, your only constant. And you kind of miss the addiction a little. Because it has been six years, and you haven't touched heroin since, but you still miss it, you still miss the release it gave you.

Suddenly, nothing mattered anymore. The world was your own, and you felt _free_. Nicky doesn't expect a response. You both don't have much expectations anymore. She sighs, '_This shit isn't right for you. It ain't right for me either._' You stare at the red liquid, the wine. '_I feel trapped, man. I don't like this._'

'What are you saying?'

'_I miss it too. So much._'

It isn't anger, but fear which causes you to snap. 'We made a deal. We wouldn't go anywhere near that stuff again. We made a fucking deal––

'_Yeah, it's easy for you but––_'

'It's not easy.' You shrug. 'Okay, when did I say to you this was easy?' You're losing patience. You have your own problems. 'Look, if it's honestly getting to you that bad, then get a fucking therapist.'

'_Vause, we really need to talk about your bedside manner._'

The wine is bitter in your mouth. Tastes good. Sharp. Your lips sting. Piper's kisses still linger, and your stomach turns. It felt wrong, watching her fetch Daniel from the bedroom, pull on his coat, say they were leaving. Daniel, so confused and young, barely had an opportunity to say a word to you. But you preferred it that way. After what happened, you couldn't face the child, and you're glad Piper left.

She wanted to talk about what happened. Wanted to ask, _what does this mean for us?_ Stupid question. It means everything is the same; nothing changes, no matter how much you wish it will. There's still a connection between you two that never goes away. It was wrong, and perfect, and you memorise the movements of her hands on your skin, how her parted lips brushed against your cheek as you held each other.

A slow, loving embrace which continues to send shivers up your spine.

That really happened.

'_I'm trying. I ain't depressed, but I'm __**trying**__ and nothing seems to be working. I don't know what it is; I just–– I hate this shit, Vause. It's fucked. I leave my apartment at seven in the morning, come back home ten hours later, and it's fucking freezing and dark._' She's avoiding the issue. She exhales. You lower your gaze, and you don't have to imagine what it's like, coming home to an empty, cold apartment. However, it's something you both have to deal with. A permanent price to pay. '_It'd be nice to come back to somebody, y'know?_'

'Yeah. Yeah, I know.'

'_You're real creepy when you're quiet._'

'Well, you're talking all the time.'

'_Fine. You talk._'

Rolling your eyes, you pour another glass of wine. There's a newspaper, two days old, at the corner of the table. You slide it over, turn a few pages, and your eyes land on a few job advertisements. For half a minute, you briefly read over who's hiring. Feel a ball form in your throat. You're not qualified for anything except importing drugs. What skills are in that? Then, your mind clicks.

Skills.

You required _many skills_ as a drug importer. It isn't just about flashing a charming smile. It's more than that –– it's about _selling_, it's about pleasing the consumer, giving offers, supplying on demand, finishing jobs in an efficient and professional manner. And using words _wisely_ and specifically. Not many can pull these skills off; it requires training and natural ability, and you have both.

'I'm getting a job.'

'_What?_'

'I'm getting a job.'

'_How the fuck are you going to do that?_'

'I'll have a job by Tuesday.'

'_Tuesday? Vause, that's in three days._'

'Underestimating me is your biggest flaw.' You reach over for a pen. 'There's a load of crap on IT technicians and plumbers–– Hang on.' There's an advertisement from a sales company called _Blue Sphere_. It's pretty basic: the entrepreneur hires salespeople, and it's fairly decent money. If you can sell, you won't just gain the money you earn, but the company will support you financially as well.

Unfortunately, the advertisement is vague, and you haven't heard of _Blue Sphere_ before. Their number and email address is below. '_You still there?_'

'Yep.' You circle the advertisement. 'So: I'm an ex-con, originally infamous drug importer for one of the biggest rings in the world, and just got fired from the diner I worked at for two months. Sound employable?'

'_I don't know how anyone could turn you down._'

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you look over the other jobs, but none of them are suitable. You exhale. Okay. You'll give this _Blue Sphere_ company a go. If it doesn't work, then look for work in a pub or something. _But you need a job._ You need to get back on your feet. For yourself. You're done thinking about Piper and Daniel, you're done with the past, and you need to go back to what you're good at.

The life you want. Minus the drugs. Minus Piper. Minus Daniel.

Everything except nothing.

'I'm over her, Nicky.'

There's a long pause. Nicky chortles. You grin. '_You're a fucking liar._'

The humour doesn't last, but it's there, and it's very important between you two. You consider telling Nicky what happened. Between you and Piper. It's all you can think about, and every time your thoughts sway to her, to _then_, you want more. You need more. There's not really anybody else. 'Don't go back to the drugs.'

'_... I don't even know what I'm doing anymore. I guess I am miserable. I get annoyed at everyone too easily. Living hurts. I don't know. Doesn't feel right._'

You're smiling. 'I know exactly what you mean.'

'_Mm. Looks like we've both hit rock bottom_.'

You adjust your glasses. Your heart skips a beat when there's a knock at the door. 'Hey, I gotta go.'

'_All right. See ya_.'

You hang up. Place the phone aside, hesitantly approach the door. Heart pounding against your ribcage, you edge closer, freeze instantly when you watch the lock turn. It's instinct. You move, turn the corner, open a drawer, stuff your hands inside, search for it. Your weapon. The gun. It's in your possession. Your hands are cold, trembling, and you know who's behind the door. You watch the lock.

It turns, stops, turns again.

He's struggling. But he's going to get in. _Oh shit... ohshitohshitohshit_–– You raise the gun, release the safety. _Click_. You're drowning in dread and terror; you're _petrified_ as you helplessly watch the lock turn again, fully––

The door swings open.

'Don't come a step closer––'

'_Whoa_!'

It's not him.  
>It's not him.<p>

_It's not Kubra_.

Your landlord raises his hands in defence. You catch your breath, but you're suddenly furious. What. _What_–– '––the _fuck_?!' Glaring at him, you cling to the gun, absolutely livid. 'Can I _help_ you?!'

'Seriously, you need to calm down––'

'I don't care. You don't just _walk_ into my apartment!'

'I know that. Usually.' You're too angry (_too scared_) to say another word, but you don't need to. 'This guy didn't know which flat was yours and he wanted to see you.'

Behind him is a taller man, brown, short hair. Shirt, trousers, coat. He's frowning at you, but not out of anger or fear. Just concern. He glances at the gun. Sheepishly, you pathetically try to hide it behind you. The landlord shrugs, closes the door as he leaves. You hope to God your landlord doesn't say anything about the gun, but that isn't an issue right now. You look at your former boss.

Kyle shrugs. 'I should have called, but I assumed you'd just put the phone down on me.'

You're still recovering from the shock, yet you do well to hide it. 'You would have assumed right.' There's still a gun in your hand, and it doesn't feel right to welcome him inside. You have little choice though. Without a word, you turn on your heel, quickly stash away the gun. Kyle follows.

'Where did you get that from? The gun?'

'What do you want?'

Kyle stiffens. Shoves his hands in his pocket. 'This isn't about the diner.' You cock a brow, impatient. 'When––' He exhales, runs a hand over his cheek. 'When I employed you, I thought your name a rang a bell. I felt–– I thought I had heard it somewhere.' You're about to speak, but he cuts through you. 'This isn't about the drugs, either. I know you turned yourself in because you dealt heroin.'

'I was an importer actually.'

'Oh.' He swallows. 'Well done, you.'

You roll your eyes.

'Was your mother called Diane Vause?'

Tensing, you look at him sharply. You don't enjoy discussing your late mother. Don't enjoy discussing what you no longer have. 'Yeah.' Kyle nods. He averts his gaze to the floor, and he's silent for a while. You narrows your brows. 'What the fuck are–– _What_?'

'And your father. Did you know him?'

'No.' Something ugly growls. 'No, I don't know him at all.'

'Oh.' Kyle inhales. 'Me neither.'

You open your mouth to speak, but his expression doesn't change, and you realise. Widening your eyes slightly, you nearly laugh. This can't possibly be happening. Clenching a fist, you lean against the wall. Both of you say nothing. Silent. Kyle patiently watches, but he knows you've caught on.

_This cannot be happening_.

'My mum didn't talk about him much,' Kyle says. 'I learnt the hard way why she didn't. I wouldn't worry about not knowing the guy –– he's nothing special. Turns out he's a bit of a junkie. Tosser.' You're quiet. You sympathise with him. Because he had to go through the trauma you had to go through, and _he has no idea_. Kyle scratches the back of his head. 'Guess this makes you my sister.'

No. Fuck no.

You pull a face. 'I don't have siblings. I had a mum.' You shrug. 'That's all I had.'

Kyle nods. 'Okay.' He nods again. 'I just–– Well, I thought––'

'Please don't.' You step past, open the front door. 'Please don't have any thoughts.' He slumps his shoulders in defeat. 'I don't have siblings. My father fucked more women than he could count. You're just another result. Doesn't mean anything.'

'Alex––'

'Please get out of my apartment.'

'Alex, don't you want to know how I found out about you?'

'_Get out_.'

You avoid his gaze. He doesn't have a choice. Kyle sighs. Walks forward, and when he brushes past, you ignore the familiar features he shares with your father. You ignore that he is, indeed, your brother. _Because this is fucked. Today has been fucked. Today has been so fucked._ Kyle turns to you when he leaves.

'I'm sorry I fired you. If–– I can give you your job back.'

'Oh?' You scoff. 'Really?'

'Yeah.'

'Mm-Hm. Yeah, I don't want a job because you pity me. Fuck you.' Before he can let out another word, you slam the door in his face. And he's gone. Erased from your life. You're shuddering, and you can't absorb everything that's happened. So much has happened. Piper, Nicky, Kyle. No.

No.

You hate being out of control. You want to be in control again.

Undetermined. Free.

Grabbing your mobile, you dial the number for _Blue Sphere_. After handling an automatic voice recording, you're soon transferred to a woman. Her voice sounds pleasant, and there's a strange form of optimism in her tone. It's easy. You know how to charm, you know how to win the conversation, the reward. You know how to grasp control of the situation and make it work in your favour.

After twenty minutes of discussion, the woman has booked you in for a job interview on Monday at nine o' clock. You'll be speaking to the assistant director. And you _will_ get the job. You will put your drug importing career to your advantage; turn it into something good. You'll convince him you're the best of the best, and he'll hire you immediately. You can sell anything. That's what you're good at.

You're really fucking good at that.

Its not important, you don't think, but knowing Daniel will have a reason to be proud of you causes you to smile for the first time in months. And it's a real, genuine smile; one you mean. For a while, you forget the bad, forget about Piper, about your father, about Kyle and about how your son isn't yours to hold. For a while, you simply smile.

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	11. Chapter 11

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Daniel  
><span>**11.**

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Two months pass, and things are gradual; slow. You got the job –– after a lot of insistence, persuasion, you got the job. Somehow, you got the job and it's a _real_, good job. However, it's a job which demands your constant attention. You've sold and bargained and dealt, and you're brilliant, but this stuff is different. You're not selling the drugs. You're selling merchandise, from paper weights, to even cars, and no one is _addicted_ to these things. You have to _convince_. Your boss is hesitant around you; he doesn't like you. With reason, of course. To be honest, you don't really trust yourself either. Yet you will win his approval someday soon.

Like any decent salesperson, you fail more than you sell. You're still selling, though, and you've managed to form connections within the business and outside. _That_ remains the same. How to grow a reputation; you can do that, you know what act to play. You're getting paid. You can afford food and you're working again. You're better, but you're not _there_ yet. Just a few more months, or years, and you'll be at the top of your game once again. Where you should be.

It's midnight on a Wednesday. You have a glass of wine in your hand, a book in the other. As you read, you realise Piper hasn't contacted you _since that day_. It distracts you momentarily; the idea that she's forgotten about you. That the one time you both slept together was irrelevant to her and she's already moved on.

Suddenly, the buzzer sounds and you jump in surprise.

The buzzer goes again and again. You lower the novel, glass of wine, search in your drawer for a knife. You're not expecting visitors at midnight. You eye the lock. It doesn't turn; the buzzer goes off again. You quietly step towards the door, look through the peep hole. It's a man you don't recognise, and he looks impatient. Bulky, possibly loud. He's not a customer, and he's not a colleague. You grip the knife harder, unlock the door, and slowly open it––

Instantly the man steps inside and barges past you, right into your kitchen, 'So this is where you live!' He laughs, his voice booming throughout the apartment. Cursing quietly, you slam the door shut and follow him, heart in your mouth. Fuck. _Idiot_. Why did you let him in? 'Jesus _Christ_, Vause, this place is a real shit hole.' He kicks a pile of books, and they collapse across the floor.

'The _fuck_ do you want?' You're already at his heel, and he swivels around to face you properly.

He smiles cruelly. 'Your fucking money, that's what.'

'I don't owe any money, and I can't afford the amount anyway.'

'Fuck does that mean?'

'It's all gone. I got rid of it all.' Heart racing, you keep the knife pressed to your thigh. He's tall, around 6"5. Very, very tall, and you have to look up at him. He knows this, too. He's proud of his height and he's willing to use this to his advantage. He _intimidates_ you. But you refuse to let him know. 'You're wasting your fucking time. Get the hell out of my apartment.'

He swallows, hard. And the smile fades. 'Bad move there, Vause. You can say what you want, but we're getting that money. We'll get it off you.'

'Oh yeah? Try me.'

Both of you are still. He twitches a little smile. Then suddenly moves. You beat him to it, though, and the point of the knife is pressed into his shirt. He stops breathing, stares down at the weapon, then slowly looks back to you. 'Hear you sleep with a gun nowadays, kid. Must be living the dream.'

'I haven't got the money.'

'Gave it all away, did ya?'

You're silent.

There's a pause, and then his eyes light up. Something clicks. He gasps, chuckles softly. 'Shit. _Shit_! You _did_ give it all away. Who was it? Which special someone got your millions, Vause? Must have been someone very, very, _very_ close to ya.' You know what he's going to say next, and you're not prepared. You have heard his name slip from _their_ lips several times now, and you're never prepared. 'What's that brat's called?' He clicks his fingers. 'Daniel, right? Is he actually _yours_?'

You press the knife deeper into his shirt, until it nips his flesh. 'How the fuck do you know?' Mistake. You've confirmed his suspicions.

The man taps his nose. 'Word gets around. Don't underestimate the boss. He likes to keep an eye on you.' He sighs. 'Now. You mind getting your knife off me? I'd rather leave unscathed, y'know?'

'Don't come back here. Or go anywhere near me again. I quit. _Years_ ago. Come back here again I'll––'

'You'll _what_? Call the cops? Ha! Yeah. They're gonna be all up in arms for an ex-con.' He shakes his head. 'Nah, don't worry. I ain't gonna bother _you_ again.' He winks. 'You don't have the money, like you said. Your baby boy does. I'm sure he'll be pretty easy to cooperate with.'

'You _dare_––'

'Oh, I do.' He raises his shoulders. 'You can stab me right here and now, Vause, but we're already on our way. We know where he lives, know his mama has all the info on the money.' He cocks a brow. 'Guess you're a little stumped now, aren't ya?'

He isn't lying. You can tell that much, but you can't move. _He isn't lying_. Shit. Oh, shit. _Shit_. Your breath catches in your throat when he carefully moves around the knife, watching you closely as he does. You can't see him, though, and you stand there uselessly. You turned yourself in to protect Daniel, and, somehow, you've managed to land him in danger? How does that work?

How does that work?

'When you got enough dosh you should get a better place. Another bedroom, maybe, for all those bitches you fuck.'

You don't hear him leave. You drop the knife. It clatters to the floor.

Glancing at the time, you see it's just gone one in the morning. You consider going to bed, pretending you heard nothing, you didn't have a visitor. Let Piper deal with what's to come. She is not your responsibility. And whatever happens to Daniel is out of your hands. But you're not that person anymore. You can't do that anymore. You aren't a kid anymore.

It's on _you_.

You don't sleep. Instead you grab your gun. Stuff it into the waist of your jeans. Pull on your leather jacket and leave the apartment. You get in your car. Turn the ignition on. Drive to where Piper lives, and once you're there, you're relieved there are no vans waiting outside. The lights are off. The Chapmans are safe, but your hands are shaking and you can still barely breathe.

Unbuckling the seatbelt, you lean back into your seat, watch the time. It's nearly two o'clock now. You pull out your gun, check the magazine, _click_ the safety. Then you wait. And maybe you're paranoid, maybe Daniel won't be harmed, but you're not betting on it. You can't trust anybody right now. And you're _panicking_. You're agitated, and you start to consider the possibility that you _may have lost your mind_. Daniel should _not_ have found you, and you should _not_ have let him come back.

That fucking kid. Damn it. Kubra's henchmen are good; they can track, observe and keep tabs. They must have followed you here once; they must have seen you interact with the child. You don't know. Jesus. This whole thing is fucked _up_, and it's all on you. It's your fault, and you _must_ fix the damage. It's soon three o'clock, then four o'clock, and never once do you fall asleep.

You expect the worst to happen, but it doesn't.

It's at seven o'clock when the lights flicker on in the house. You tense, hold the gun, look down the road in case anybody is coming. The road is deserted. It's just you. You and your paranoia and insanity. Half an hour passes. The front door opens. Your heart skips a beat. You see her. Dressed for work, and her son is at the door, and there's a man too. They're smiling and they're waving her off.

They're family.

There is a picture here. The man and son still in their pyjamas, and the mother going to work. A picture you aren't a part of. It's not possible how your heart _fractures_ a little. Your toes curl, and you focus on Daniel's face from where you're parked. Blond hair, messy, uncombed, blue pyjamas with what you think are red boats on. Small slippers. Piper hugs him, kisses his cheek, and she's soon in her car, soon driven off and she hasn't seen you. She doesn't know you're there.

The front door closes.

And in your mind, all you hear: '_You don't have the money, like you said. Your baby boy does. I'm sure he'll be pretty easy to cooperate with_.' Repeatedly. A chorus of horror. You shudder. Tears sting your eyes, and you know you don't have a choice.

You open the car door. Stuff the gun away. Approach the house, the door. You're about to knock, but think otherwise. Instead, you try opening it. You're relatively surprised it's unlocked. So, you step inside, as if you've always been granted permission to enter _her_ home. As if you're different, as if you're _hers_, as if this house is your own.

As soon as you're inside, though, you realise it's not your home at all.

You can't afford a home like this.

For a moment, you're confused. You're not sure what you're doing; why you're here. '_You don't have the money, like you said. Your baby boy does. I'm sure he'll be pretty easy to cooperate with_.' Fuck... oh, fuck. You need to get him away. Far away. You can't risk him getting hurt. You can't think rationally, and you're selfish –– _so fucking selfish_ –– for thinking like this, but you consider your options, and you _know_ you have none. You're helpless. Utterly helpless.

The kitchen is to the left. Quietly, you approach the room, and there's a packet of Cheerios on the table, a bowl and a little boy seated. He chews on his cereal happily, then senses your presence. Quickly, Daniel snaps his head towards you, stops midchew, wide eyed. You expect him to yell out in fright, but instead he smiles, grins even, and a little milk spills from between his lips. Sheepishly, he wipes his mouth.

'Alec! You came to have cerealses with me? Mama don't think so, but I likes the Cheerios a _lot_.' He raises his brows in curiosity when you reach over to grab his coat on one of the hooks. 'Are you taking me to school today?' Your breath catches. You turn to him. 'Daddy was meanta take me.'

'Where is he?'

'In the shower. He gotta shave his hairy beard, too. It's all itchy–– _Blegh_!'

'Okay. Yes, I'm taking you to school. There's been a change of plan. Can you put this on for me?' You pass him his coat.

'But I gotta change first––'

'It's okay.' You kneel down, pull on his coat. 'We can buy you new clothes.'

'I gotta wear school uniforms. Gotta have a tie––'

'That's okay.'

'Alec, where we goin'?'

Of course he's caught on. He knows he's not going to school. He knows you're scared, and he watches you in concern. It's not right. _You're _the one who should feel concerned, not scared. 'Somewhere exciting. But I need you to come with me.'

'Daddy needsta know––'

'He knows. Come with me.' You take his hand, and he doesn't know any better. Daniel obediently slips off his seat and follows you. You squeeze his hand as you reach the door, and you don't have a choice. You don't have a choice. You _have_ to protect him. You don't want Kubra's men touching him, you don't want him dragged into your shit too. You can't do that.

With no real plan in mind, you take Piper's child out of his own home, and he's frowning now, puzzled. You're tall and walk fast, and he has to run to keep up with you. He peers over his shoulder, back at the house, worried then looks up at you. Desperate for answers. You both reach the car. You gently lift him into the passenger seat, fasten his seatbelt, and he grabs your collar.

'Alec?' He blinks. 'Where we goin'?'

'You'll see.'

'Will we be home in time for dinner? Mummy's makin' spaghetti hoops.'

'Of course. And if we don't get back in time, I'll make you spaghetti hoops. Sound good?'

He nods. 'Mm!'

You hear a heavy vehicle racing down the road. You don't recognise the car. It's not his men. You look back at Daniel, zip up his coat more. 'Hey, look at me––' He obeys, and his eyes are wide and blue and filled with questions and _trust_. 'I'm not letting anything happen to you, all right?' He doesn't quite understand, but he thinks he does because he nods, and releases your collar.

As you move towards the driver's seat, you slip inside, push your glasses higher up the bridge of your nose. Daniel watches you intently. You have no plans. You've got money in your wallet, a phone, and your son next to you and he's safe and he's in your care. He's not going anywhere, and, for now, that's okay. That'll be okay. You just need to figure out what to do.

You start the car. Drive down the road, and as you're about to make a right turning, you see a black van charging past you.

... that van is far too familiar.

'Alec?'

They haven't spotted you, or the boy.

_Pipes, I'm so fucking sorry_.

You drive onwards, and don't stop. Daniel stares at you, wide eyed, and you glance at him shortly.

'It's okay.' You inhale. Whisper, 'It's all going to be okay.'

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	12. Chapter 12

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Daniel  
><span>**12.**

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'Jesus _fuck_.'

'I've got five minutes––'

'_Jesus fuck_.'

'Nichols, stop fucking around. I need a favour.'

'Whoa.' Holding up her hands, Nicky steps back, shaking her head, grinning nervously. 'You know what, man, I'm all for the pimp shit you got up to but _this_? Did you _steal_ the damn kid? Took him from his mother?'

Yes, technically. All irrationality put aside, you have kidnapped a child; _stolen_ him from his home and his mother, but it doesn't bother you yet. Right now, your mind is focussed on getting Daniel far away, untraced by the ring –– you're worried about Piper, what might be of her, but Daniel outweighs her life. This, _this_, bothers you. Not only is _somebody else_ more important than yourself, but this somebody else isn't a lover or a relative. This is a child. And this child is suddenly _your_ responsibility.

But there isn't time to stand and gawp. You have five minutes. 'I gave you a––'

'Vause, you're gonna have to tell me what the fuck is going on. You come into my apartment with a sleeping kid in your arms. Don't get me wrong –– it warms my heart that you have a soft side somewhere, but that kid isn't even yours.'

'We're not discussing who this kid _belongs_ to.' You snap, and Nicky raises her brows in mild surprise. She's never seen you get defensive. Not really. Exhaling, Nicky folds her arms and seems willing to listen finally. You glance at Daniel who's asleep on the settee, wrapped in a blanket, still in his pyjamas. He's sweet, and you have to force yourself to avert your gaze. 'I gave him money. Lots, before I turned myself in. That money wasn't exactly _mine_. I was watching over it for my boss, but he never asked for it back –– I hung onto it for years, until it got to the point where it was mine.'

'Yeah, of course.'

'The point is that I gave the money to Daniel. It's in his bank account; what I opened for him.'

'Okay.'

'Now I got my psychopathic ex-boss after me. He wants the money. I haven't given it him, so here I am, kidnapping a child.' Nicky looks puzzled. You add, 'He threatened to hurt Daniel. This man is _sick_, Nicky. He hires men to kill people, torture them. I didn't–– I couldn't let that happen. It was fucking dumb, but I took the kid before Kubra fucking got to him first.'

'You _kidnapped_ a child, Vause. I–– I'm lost. Is this about the girl? The one you were talkin' about when we were on the rooftop?' Nicky looks at Daniel, points at him. 'Shit. Is he hers?'

'... Yes.'

'Wait, let's just go back a few steps. Why didn't you just hand in the money? Give it back to him?'

You pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration, but you're not necessarily frustrated at Nicky. As always, it's you, yourself, you're frustrated with. Why didn't you hand in the money? 'It's not that simple,' you mumble, 'And even if I handed it back in now, he's not going to stop chasing my tail.' Scoffing, you take off your glasses. Your pulse is racing. You're dizzy. 'What does it matter? I fucked up. Can only continue what I started.' Nicky softens her expression, and you don't like being pitied by her. By anyone. 'I gave you a gun. It's loaded. I need you to give it back to me.'

'Oh? You think you can take 'em all on, eh?'

'I can try.'

Nicky chortles. 'Shit.' You're motionless as she crosses the room, into another room on the left. Daniel sleeps soundlessly. You look at the time –– one more minute, and you're out of here. You're driving for many more miles, and you're going find a place for the night; you'll make plans along the way. It'll be like old times. Sort of. Just instead of Piper, it's a boy, it's a child and he's yours. Nicky returns, passes the gun over.

'Thanks.'

'Vause, you gotta protect that kid, but you really think _you _can? I mean, maybe the only way you can protect him is by... _not_?' Stashing away the gun into the waist of your trousers, you gently lift Daniel up and let him rest against you. Nicky places a hand on his hip, smiles crookedly. 'He's cute all right.' Meets your gaze. 'You think Kubra's already realised he's gone missing?'

You remember the van when you had just picked up Daniel. A shiver shoots up your spine, and you imagine Piper's reaction; her terror at finding her son has disappeared, that there are strange men in her home. You hold Daniel tighter. You don't want to imagine the damage you've caused; the fact _everything goes to shit when you're involved_. Every time Piper is in trouble, you're there, and now you've had her own son targeted. It's your business. Your shit. And it's your fault.

No. Fuck, you can't imagine the very idea that you've broken her in two.

Nicky doesn't require an answer. Your expressions says enough. Kubra knew hours ago that you and Daniel had mysteriously vanished without a trace. And he knows this is no coincidence. Daniel begins to stir in your arms, and you take this as a cue to leave. Nicky follows you to the door, but neither of you say good bye. You speedily walk out, for the lift, out of the flat, towards the car.

By the time Daniel is strapped in his seat, he's awake, and he stares at you while you start the ignition. 'Where're we goin'?' His voice trembles. He's scared. You need to hold him, you need to make him feel safe, you need to reassure him everything is how it should be. But you're no mother. You can't do that bullshit. You can't pretend everything is okay when it isn't.

'I don't know yet.'

Daniel inhales sharply. He doesn't like your tone –– it's blunt. It's how you speak to colleagues, to people you barely know. It's distant and cold, and he's uncomfortable and upset. You know what's going to happen but you've already started driving. It's too late to stop and hug him, kiss him better. Daniel sniffs, and tears pour from his large, blue eyes, and he's helpless.

He needs you to tell him what's going on.

That's what he needs. He doesn't need you to pretend all is okay, to put on an act.

He needs you to pretend he, too, is an adult. _You need to talk to your baby_. Shifting into second gear, you try to catch his gaze. 'Hey, why are you looking at me that way? Don't you like adventures?'

Daniel wipes his face with the back of his sleeves. 'I wanna go home.'

'You can't go home right now.'

'Why?'

'It's–– You can't. You need to come with me.'

Daniel lets out a shaky gasp. 'I want my mummy.' Four words you have been dreading to hear. 'Where's my mummy? Why isn't she coming with us too?'

Stop the car. No... no, don't stop the car. You don't have time to waste. 'She will. She's on her way; she'll catch up with us.' _Stop lying_. Daniel stares at you, and he knows. Fuck. _Of course he knows you're not telling the truth_. He knows you haven't got a plan. He knows mummy isn't following. You took him out of fear, you took him because you want him safe, you took him because what else could you do? _You had no choice_. But now what? _Now what will you do?_

Daniel shrinks down in his seat. Turns his head to the window; watches the scenery roll past. Watches his home slowly fade away. And you think –– shit, this is exactly the same. A little different, but still the same. You had Piper in your claws, dragged her into danger, and called it "adventure". Daniel blindly followed you to the car, hand in yours, except the moment he was born, he was yours to fuck over. At least Piper had a life before you came along. A sigh escapes your lips.

You need to stop the car at some point.

For the next five hours, you're both silent, and you can sense Daniel slowly calming down. The day turns to night, lights are cosy on the road; it's strangely safe. Everything is strangely easier. You're far away now; you left your phone behind. You can't be tracked. Well, not for a while at least. Someone will eventually identify your car, will identify the stolen child sitting next to you.

It gets late. You're not tired, though. You're alert. Too alert. (Paranoid.) There's a hotel up ahead, and you consider checking to see if any rooms are available. The moon is high tonight; it glows fiercely. A car overtakes you. Daniel is sliding off to the side –– he's fallen asleep again. Given up trying to think, to battle his concerns, given up asking questions.

He's such a good boy.

Your heart _pinches_. You signal to the right, turn off the road, stop the car. It's all fuzzy in your head whenever you think back to this moment, but you always remember how good it felt to unstrap him, place him on your lap, rest him against your chest while he slept a little longer. Lazily, your fingers run through his smooth hair, and you kiss his forehead, and you realise you've made a mistake bringing him here, but you still don't know what other alternative you had.

_Have_.

The boy sleeps, and you carefully rock him. Words slip from your lips, and you whisper, quietly, let the secrets spill. 'Daniel, I know you're asleep right now, but I want you to know that I'm sorry and that I love you very much.' Gradually, you relax, your muscles don't feel tense anymore, your shoulders loosen. You don't watch the time. You hold him, and he's all you have, and you're all he has.

Planning is suddenly simple. You'll get Daniel somewhere safe, somewhere, and if the police or Kubra haven't already caught you, you'll contact Piper. Then you'll tell her everything. And you'll let her do what she must. You'll let her hate you. You'll let her forbid you from ever seeing Daniel again, but it's worth it. As long as he's safe, it's worth it.

What the fuck has happened to you? You're not the same person anymore.

And you don't know if that's a good thing.

Twenty minutes go by. Thirty. Forty. You don't let him go. You cradle him as he sleeps, hold him for as long as you possibly can. Afterwards, you place him back in his seat, strap him in, and continue driving for the hotel. It's nothing posh, and you don't want anything posh. You don't want to stay anywhere well-known. Staying in a run-down hotel will keep you in the shadows. For now, at least.

The receptionist doesn't pay much attention while you book the room, a sleeping child in your arms. It's a small room. Tiny, in fact, with only a double bed and chest of drawers inside. The toilet and showers are down the hall. You lock the door, sit on the edge of the bed while you unzip Daniel's coat. He begins to wake up, and moans in frustration at you disturbing his slumber. Once his tiny shoes are off, you help him crawl into bed, under the sheets, and he immediately falls back to sleep.

He hasn't eaten anything except a chocolate bar since you took him from Piper. Stuffing a hand into your pocket, you find a ten dollar note. Surely that'll be enough to get that useless receptionist to order food. You leave the door ajar while you hurry towards the desk. The receptionist refuses to look at you, engrossed in her newspaper. Which, you note amusingly, is a day old.

'Is there a shop or takeaway nearby?'

'Yeah,' she says, still not looking at you. 'Just down the road. Two minute walk.'

'Great.' You slam the ten dollar note onto the desk. 'I can't leave my son alone. He hasn't eaten all day, so get us a meal. If you wanna be a real gem, you can even get us a warm meal.'

'Huh. Whatever. I ain't getting you nothing.'

'That's ten fucking dollars, kid. You'll be five minutes –– tops. I already paid sixty bucks for the night, the least you can do is get off your ass and do me a favour.'

'Tsk.' She takes the note. 'Fuck you doing starving your kid anyway?'

'Watch it,' you warn, and she wisely does, quickly leaving the hotel in search of food.

Daniel is still asleep when you return to the room. Quietly, you move towards the window, peek through the curtains. It's an empty street. You're safe. For now, you've kept him safe, and that's a good enough reason to feel relieved. The time is nearing eleven o'clock. Daniel has been missing for over twelve hours. Neither you or Piper will sleep tonight.

She should be here. With both of you.

You miss her, but you can't let that get to you; not now. Not when Daniel is sleeping a few inches away. You know the risks, you know the possible consequences –– Piper leaving your life forever, and, worse, prison again. Fuck. You can't go back there. Not there.

A knock at the door snaps you back to reality. You instantly reach for your gun, but remember about the receptionist. Heart pounding against your ribcage, you open the door. She's holding a white carrier bag and you can smell Chinese food. 'Here,' she says, 'It's Chicken Chow Mien. Here's the change––'

'Keep it.' You slam the door shut in her face.

Chinese food. You never considered if Daniel likes this stuff. It pains you to wake him up, but he's fortunately obedient and doesn't make a sound. The smell of food wakes him properly. 'Mm,' he looks down at the tub of noodles and chicken, and pulls a face. 'Eurgh!'

'Don't be silly.' You're grateful the receptionist has given you a fork. 'It's Chow Mien. Chicken. You like chicken, don't you?'

He rubs his eye. 'Yeah, but I dun like tha' pasta stuffs.'

'The noodles? You don't know unless you try.' Reaching over, you offer Daniel a fork full of food. 'Come on, try it.' He winces and shuffles back. 'Hey, don't be a wimp.'

'It's gross.'

'Daniel, this is all we've got, and I want you to try some.'

'Don't like this stuffs.'

'You haven't _tried_ it.'

'I dun need to!'

'Oi, don't raise your voice,' you whisper harshly. Daniel pouts, but remains silent. Exhaling slowly, you attempt to feed him one more time. 'It tastes good.' The fork is at his lips, and Daniel reluctantly opens his mouth and takes a bite. He squirms and swallows hard. 'See?'

'It tastes like crap.'

His use of language shocks you, but you brush it off quickly. 'No, it doesn't and you know it.'

'I hate it!'

'Oh. Really?' You're annoyed. Angry. Fucking angry. Slamming the tub of Chinese food down, you glare at him. 'What do you suggest then? What else can you eat here, kid? I can't just whip out donuts and all that unhealthy shit you want.' Daniel flinches, and tears pool in his eyes. He looks away. Hurt. Betrayed. You've lost your temper, and he's scared.

He's scared because he doesn't know where he is, he doesn't know where mummy is, and all he has is you to look after him. And you're acting like an idiot. You are acting like the child. Daniel clearly has plenty of pride to protect because he even turns his back on you, busily wiping his tear-stained cheeks. It's one of the worst things he can possibly do.

Pathetically, you stare at the back of his head. You feel guilt for taking him away, for yelling at him, for swearing at him. 'Daniel, I'm sorry. We don't have to eat this. I can buy nicer food tomorrow. Does that sound good? Hm?' He's silent for a moment.

'I don't care.'

'What d'you mean?'

'I don't care,' he repeats, shrugging, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

'Why don't you care?'

''Cos only mummy makes good foods.'

It's more than just the fact Piper can cook, and that she can cook tasty meals for her son. It's more than just the fact Chinese food doesn't taste as good as Piper's beans on toast. It's the fact Piper isn't _here_, that _mummy_ isn't here, to hold him and take care of him. It's not the food. It's the mother. It's home, and he is nowhere _near_ home. You've stolen him from it, and he can't possibly forgive you.

You drop your gaze, speechless.

Both of you are still for several minutes, until Daniel moves. He lifts up the sheets to get beneath them, and you're about to help him, but he looks at you once –– a firm, yet helpless expression. He doesn't want your help. Obediently, you're on your feet, you remove the Chinese food, and watch him nestle under the sheets, and try and rest.

Five minutes pass. His breathing slows, is slightly heavier.

He's asleep.

Appetite gone, you dump the food into the bin. Strip off your jacket, your shoes, sit on the edge of the bed and hold your head in your hands.

The night drags on, and the disappointment feels like knives, shredding down your spine.

**.**

**.**

**.**


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